What Do You Say to a Friend?

By Guest Blogger: "Martha," Ariel's college roommate and close friend

 

What do you say to a single friend you've known for more than 20 years when she has lost her job—her only source of income? What do you say to that same unemployed friend who has always been employed and has worked her way up to a great job? What do you tell that friend who had her foot poised on the next rung of the corporate ladder?

 

"It will be okay. . ."

 

"God has a plan. . ."

 

"It could be the best thing that ever happened to you. . ."

"God uses these times to test our faith and teach us. . ."

 

"Just think how God will help you grow through this experience. . ."

"Just be glad you knew in advance so that you could plan ahead for the change in income. . ."

 

After Ariel lost her job, I struggled with what to say that would ease the blow and help and support her as she faced uncertain days. All the phrases above sounded pretty cliché and didn't seem to be appropriate (even though I still said many of them, I'm ashamed to say).

 

Now, upon reflection, I realize that I should have handled things differently. After some pretty devastating personal events in my own life (not job related), I heard some of the same clichés from both friends and family.

I just wanted to scream at them and say, "NO IT WILL NOT BE OK!!! I DON'T CARE WHAT GOD IS TRYING TO TEACH ME!!! WHY ME?!?!? WHY AM I BEING PUNISHED?!? I HAVE ALWAYS TRIED TO DO THE RIGHT THING!!! WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?!?!?"

I wonder now if Ariel secretly wanted to yell any of those heart-wrenching words at me each time we hung up the phone. If so, I can only ask her forgiveness.

I wish I had just said, "No, it's not OK. It's hard. You'll have to struggle. I don't know what to do to help. But, I will be here for you."

 

Sometimes, I'm learning that simple honesty and a willingness to listen and be leaned on are the best ways to help a friend who needs you.

As the months have passed since Ariel's job loss, I have noticed some differences in our relationship. In the past, because of her busy work schedule, I had to make appointments just to talk with Ariel. (No, I'm not kidding). We would email several times to find a suitable time for both of us and finally connect by phone. And, always, as we were talking, Ariel was on her way to or from work, to or from meetings. Now, I can expect to find Ariel at home almost any time I call. I still have to be careful of my timing in case there is a phone interview on the calendar, but at least I know where she is.

 

It's also interesting how our topics of conversation have changed. We still share personal things (not to be mentioned here), but now, instead of talking about the latest trendy restaurants that Ariel has tried, she is sharing recipes with me and chattering excitedly about her herb garden and homegrown tomatoes that will be ready soon. It seems that in her efforts to save money during these lean financial times, Ariel has become quite a good cook and gardener.

Instead of visiting and heading to a pricey restaurant for lunch, we choose homemade pizza topped with herbs from Ariel's garden and fresh vegetables from a local farmer's market. My son had no complaints, by the way, and LOVED Ariel's pizza that she served when we last visited.

(Food has always been an important "ingredient" in my relationship with Ariel. When we first met, we bonded over homemade goodies sent to us by our moms during final exam week at college. All our friends were still studying, but finals were over for both of us. There we were with care packages filled with homemade pound cake, cookies, bread and other goodies. Ordered out of our rooms by our (then) roommates who had to study, we met in the hallway each holding our care packages, found a place to sit and began to dig in. And, now, more than 20 years later, we still enjoy being together and eating yummy food.)

Any friend who can stay friends with me for more than 20 years is someone worth keeping. Ariel is a friend like that. I fully expect our friendship to last many more years. So, Ariel, the best I can tell you is that this time in your life right now is hard. I know you are hurting and confused. But, God heals in HIS time, and works through events to make us more like Christ. This is often a very long and painful process. It's just plain hard when you're going through it. But, God is there. Trust that HE cares and that HE won't let you down.

And most of all . . .

 

I didn't say it in the beginning, but I want to say it now, "No, it's not OK. It's hard. You'll have to struggle. I don't know what to do to help. But, I will be here for you."



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Photo Courtesy of: http://bit.ly/9KhcCK (Note: Not Ariel and Martha)

“Super” Dad to the Rescue

By Guest Blogger: Ariel's Dad

Last time Ariel asked her mother to write about being a supportive parent to an out-of-work adult child. This time she's asked me to give the father's point of view.

As my wife said, parents want to fix things. Like most men, I prefer problem-solving action to hours chewing on a problem and analyzing it. I like things nailed down. Uncertainty is not happy territory for me. I like to know.

My career has always revolved around numbers. I like numbers. They're predictable, dependable, unchanging. You go to bed knowing that two plus two equals four; you get up in the morning and two plus two still equals four. Certainty: I like it.

Admittedly, when it comes to careers, I'm a dinosaur. I went to work for the federal government; 35 years later, I retired. I had different jobs and titles over those 35 years, but I got up every morning knowing I had a job. Now, every month when my retirement check arrives, it is further proof of all that was good about "the way things used to be."

In fact, after my federal government career, I took up a new one in county government. I've now worked 13 years in that capacity, with another retirement pension soon to come my way. Boring? Maybe to some people, but I like certainty.

Ironically, Ariel and I accepted our jobs at approximately the same time. Now, at age 68, I still have mine, and she is scrambling to find one. It just doesn't make sense to me.

These days people no longer have what I had: a secure job (two, in fact) with a pension—a job you can keep until retirement. Ariel, who knows all about human resources stuff, tells me that in the future most people will have multiple careers in their working lifetime—not multiple jobs, but totally new careers. I can't even imagine such a thing.

Accordingly, I had no idea how to help Ariel when she lost her job. At first, I searched job listings, but I soon learned two things. First, she is quite computer savvy and knew all about RSS feeds and how to have them delivered to her electronic inbox. No matter what I turned up, she had it first. Second, I didn't seem to do well at scouting job leads. Both Ariel and her mother have master's degrees in human resources and sometimes when I'd find what I thought was the perfect HR job, they'd patiently deconstruct the listing for me, explaining to me how it was for a completely different kind of job than what Ariel is qualified for or seeking even if the title sounded similar. Finally, in the interest of family harmony, I gave up sending her job listings.

For me, giving up that role as job listing provider meant relinquishing my role as the Daddy who fixed things. Now, I was just the guy who couldn't even understand the job market. To tell the truth, when, Ariel and her mother start slinging HR jargon back and forth during our daily phone conversations, I just quietly hang up the phone and go outside and listen to the birds. Their tweets and trills make about as much sense.

Then one day, Ariel's clothes dryer stopped working. Not having money to repair it, she called and asked if I could help. In December, I spent several hours lying on the cold concrete garage floor of her laundry area trying to repair it. I thought I had it fixed, only to find that it stopped again. I tried once more—more hours on the garage floor. It was definitely broken. She bought a clothesline and strung it up in her garage. That's all we could do.

As the months went by, more household items have broken. Each time Ariel calls and most of the time I've been able to help. I may not understand "HR-speak", but I know wrenches and shut-off valves and circuit breakers and car noises. I know a little about plumbing and air conditioning and mechanical things, and I can fix a leaky toilet as well as the next guy.

Consequently, when something jams or freezes up or breaks—which seems to be more often than I'd have thought possible—Ariel calls me, and I do what I can. When my wife answers the phone on these occasions, Ariel always says, "I need to speak to the 'Super'." By this, she means the building superintendent, or in other words: me.

It's like my wife told you last time: we encourage Ariel, support her, hug her, and do all that feel-good stuff, but sometimes when you're Daddy, you just actively need to do something. A man just feels more useful changing the outcome—and "saving the day". I leave the job hunts to them, but I keep my cordless drill and screwdriver charged and ready to go. This I can do.

Besides, there are some perks. When I arrive to repair something Ariel rewards me with a home-cooked meal. Of course, she invites her mother, too, who deserves rewards for her hard work as well. And, since Ariel has more time to shop for the freshest ingredients and to cook meals from scratch, this has turned into a pretty nice perk.

To be honest, I like taking an active role and knowing I can occasionally do things to make Ariel's life easier during this stressful time.

Besides, it's not half bad being the Dad whose grown-up daughter still calls him "Super".

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Photos Courtesy of:

Superman: http://bit.ly/aBeEWP

Man on Computer (note: not Ariel's Dad): http://bit.ly/bxgOrn

Tools: http://bit.ly/dyuCYY
Super Dad: http://bit.ly/cBZ2IX

Eating on the Dole Doesn’t Have to Be a Royal Pain

Once upon a time in a land far away, there lived a fair princess named Ariel. She had a human resources job that kept her very busy. She worked hard and earned a good salary. Princess Ariel wasn't a spendthrift, but could spend money on whatever she wanted without worry. She never gave grocery shopping much thought. She planned her menus around what she wanted to eat. When shopping, Princess Ariel was never inconvenienced—she always frequented the closest store.

As Princess Ariel traipsed through the Fairy Land supermarket, she didn't have a care in the world.

I'll buy some organic fruits and veggies, she thought.

Ariel never considered how much she might need between grocery trips. She was interested in variety rather than whether the produce or meat would go bad before being eaten.

Portobello mushrooms, bagged pre-washed lettuce and cut-up fruit! Princess Ariel never washed or chopped anything that could be purchased prepared.

"I'll take some steak," she told the butcher "and some chicken breasts and shrimp, too." This princess never worried about meat prices.

She bought hummus, bruschetta and almond butter. Brand-name ice cream, yogurt and little pudding cups, too. Prepared sauces and some mixes rounded out her cart.

Princess Ariel never thought about whether these items tasted better than more mundane ones. She never considered making her own sauces or puddings from scratch or whether that might improve the taste. Princesses don't have to worry their pretty little heads over such things.

"Do you have any coupons?" the cashier politely asked.

"Uh, no. I don't do coupons," Princess Ariel replied. "They're kind of a pain."

And, through it all Princess Ariel never realized she was spending more than $400 per month on food for one person. She never had a clue that more than $500 in restaurant charges meant she was eating $1,000 per month.

Ssssssccccccccrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeecccccchhhhh!

What the heck was I thinking?

That was then. This is now.

Pantry: Empty.

Wallet: Likewise.

Hi, my name's Ariel, and I'm a recovering princess.

These days with more time than money, I work the supermarket ads, visit more than one store for the best deals, collect coupons, compare store-brand prices to couponed national brands and—most importantly—think, think, THINK while shopping. I buy whole foods and make recipes from scratch (ironically, it takes only minutes longer).

Food whims now match whatever is on sale. Well, I've at least learned to make them match.

No more packaged items in this princess-turned-Cinderella's cart. I'm eating high-quality food—fresh meats, fresh and frozen veggies and produce, dairy and eggs. If truth be told, I'm eating far better quality food than when I just pitched the easiest items into the cart.

With mere extra minutes of work, I wash and tear-up lettuce, cut up veggies and make pasta sauce and other items from scratch. My food tastes better and costs less.

Seriously, have you ever compared the taste of bagged lettuce to head lettuce? No comparison.

When I was a child, "treats" were reserved for rare occasions. Mom and I walked (yes, I said walked) to the local bakery for one strawberry cupcake—not a whole dozen. If I behaved while shopping (which didn't always happen), Mom bought us a small box of chocolate-covered peanuts to share. Ice cream, steak and sweets were only consumed on birthdays and national holidays. Soda was only available at Granny and Grandpa's house—and, even then in a tiny four-ounce glass. Eating out—a very rare treat.

Even while still working, I realized there were no special treats. I ate out almost daily. I bought any food (or anything else) that I wanted, whenever I wanted. Steak meant it was Wednesday, not Memorial Day. Ice cream meant it was 8 PM, not July Fourth. Soda meant I'm awake, not at Grandpa's house. Nothing was special in those days.

I've rediscovered the simple joy of The Treat again. Ice cream, nuts, portabella mushrooms and expensive cuts of meat are special (when on sale) again. There's one steak left in the freezer just waiting for a special occasion to make its long-awaited appearance.

 

Now that summer has arrived, this recovering-princess has a bit of dirt under my nails and sweat on my brow most days. I don't need store-bought lettuce or herbs anymore. And, soon I won't need those $2.99 per pound tomatoes either. I'm growing my own in containers on the patio.

Last night's dinner: Pizza and salad made from home-grown oregano and arugula.

Today's lunch: Chicken with homegrown rosemary and sage.

Both: Delicious!

I just made this season's first trip to the local farm's produce stand. I got two grocery bags full of produce for $10.

Last month's grocery bill: only $149.91. Eating out has become a rare treat—usually when Mom and Dad are buying.

Fruit tastes sweeter. Veggies are fresher. Food is healthier. I have even lost a few pounds.

This recovering princess has rediscovered the joy of The Treat.

Life on the dole may just be the best thing that ever happened to my wallet, waistline and maybe even my soul.

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Just for Fun: Enjoy Ariel's Easy Homemade Creamy Herbed Tomato Soup:

Creamy Herbed Tomato Soup

 

½ cup sliced onion

2T butter

Splenda to taste (I used a couple of Tablespoons. You could use sugar or other sweetener if you prefer but it would change the carb/calorie count.)

14 ½ oz. can of diced tomatoes

1 ½ cups of chicken broth

8 oz. can of tomato sauce

½ teaspoon dried basil (or try some fresh from your patio garden!)

¼ teaspoon dried thyme (or try some fresh from your patio garden!)

Dash pepper (I used fresh ground pepper)

¼ cup half-and-half

Shredded cheddar cheese (optional)

In large saucepan, cook onion in butter till tender but not brown. Add undrained canned tomatoes, broth, tomato sauce, Splenda, basil, thyme and pepper. Place mixture in blender and puree till smooth. Return mixture to saucepan. Bring to boiling; reduce heat. Cover & simmer for 20 minutes. Cool slightly. Add half-and-half. Heat through. If desired, garnish with shredded cheddar cheese. Makes about 5 side-dish servings.

Approximate Nutritional Analysis Per Serving:

Calories:             186

Fat:                      11g

Saturated Fat:       7g

    Trans Fat:         0g

Cholesterol:        28mg

Sodium:            500mg

Carbohydrates:  17g

    Fiber:              3g

    Sugars:           7g

Protein:               8g

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For More Fun: Meet Kristina Simms, Photographic Contributor

The food photos from today's blog are courtesy of my friend, Kristina Simms. Ms. Simms is an author, photographer, retired educator, grandmother, community volunteer and, in general, an energetic and creative force of nature! Ms. Simms lives in Perry, Georgia.

She has published two nonfiction books: Macon: Georgia's Central City, An Illustrated History (Windsor Press, 1989) and A Year at the Lake (Xlibris, 2003). She is the author of a poetry book, A Second Spring (iUniverse, 2006) and numerous newspaper and magazine articles. Her recent work, The Stradivarius in the Basement, is a collection of essays—some humorous, some serious—based on the author's 72 years of observing—and participating in—life on this wonderful but essentially puzzling planet.

More of Ms. Simms photography can be found her blog: www.tinasbloomsbirdsandbooks.blogspot.com and on her Flickr photostream at www.flickr.com/photos/tinasimms/.

Ms. Simms books can be purchased on www.amazon.com or downloaded on Kindle through the links below: 

 

 

 

Macon, Georgia's Central City: An Illustrated History 

A Year at the Lake

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Photo Credits:

Renaissance Princess: Courtesy of anoldent (http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3067/2917963571_64fdaaef53.jpg%3Fv%3D0&imgrefurl=http://flickr.com/photos/8563790%40N08/2917963571&usg=__7E9x3LMzDUj1tZWSVETvj9s4w0Y=&h=500&w=500&sz=159&hl=en&start=11&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=GbPS69NJSiFTIM:&tbnh=130&tbnw=130&prev=/images%3Fq%3Drenaissance%2Bprincess%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26sa%3DN%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26as_st%3Dy%26ndsp%3D18%26tbs%3Disch:1,iur:fmc)

Food Photos: Courtesy of Kristina Simms (http://www.flickr.com/photos/tinasimms/sets/72157623597024387/)

Renaissance Serving Girl: Courtesy of anoldent (http://www.flickr.com/photos/anoldent/2914243150/in/set-72157602300989288/)


 

Does Life on the Dole Make Me Look Fat?

It has now been seven months since I lost my job. Yep, seven long, comfy, cozy months in stretchy-waist sweat pants—the ones Dad disparagingly refers to as "no-class pants".

Gym membership and access to a treadmill at work: Gone.

Entertainment (hiking trips, swimming): Gone.

Daily restaurant lunches of slimming salad and/or lean meat: Gone.

Expensive home dinners (lean meat: steak, shrimp, chicken—on sale or not—and fresh veggies—some organic): Gone.

Name-brand diet cola and fancy bottled water: Gone.

In those pre-dole days I could tell instantly by the snugness of the fitted waistband on my dress slacks or by the ease of fastening buttons on my suit jacket if I had gained even a pound. Stretchy "no-class" sweat pants are much less telling.

The reality is, life on the dole can ambush a healthy lifestyle. My new fitness "regimen" is quite different:

Entertainment: Sedentary stuff such as TV, computer and books.

Beverages: Store-brand diet cola and tap water.

Clothing: Those stretchy-waist sweat pants that don't pinch until you gain the equivalent bulk of the Matterhorn.

Food: Whatever is on sale and within my food budget (I spend 10% of income for food while the USDA recommends spending 30% of income for food.)

Truth is, the cheapest food is starchy and full of carbohydrates: rice, potatoes, beans, bread, pasta. (Ever wonder why poor people are frequently overweight?) I haven't yet resorted to ramen noodle-based concoctions like another on-the-dole American blogger.

You have to wonder then, does life on the dole make people fat?

With trepidation, I step on the bathroom scales.

Seven pounds lost.

What? Wait? LOST?

Obviously an erroneous reading. 

I step off the scales and then back on again. Yep, lost.

To make sure I'm not imagining it, I take out a few business suits from my professional life. My favorite green jacket fits—ironically better than it did last fall. The brown pants? They fit, too. Daring to hope, I try on my rarely used interview suit (mostly phone interviews these days). Yes, it fits, my heart sings.

Seven pounds lost! How is this possible?

Why haven't I packed on pounds while on the dole? Some of my unemployed friends definitely have. Maybe it's because life on the dole requires creativity. When you are worried about bills and missing paychecks, it's hard to get creative. The other problem with creativity is it takes time—and that I have in abundance.

Exercise still matters. Therefore, in place of that pricey gym membership, I walk in my neighborhood. 

Mid-morning walks in the cool air take longer but are way more entertaining than a treadmill. I hear birds singing. I spy dogs, cats, snakes, turtles, brown thrashers, blue birds and cardinals along the way. A Swainson's Hawk (rare in this locale) lives in my neighborhood. I rarely saw these creatures while I was away at work. (And, as a bonus, those occasional snake sightings elevate my heart rate quicker than any speeding treadmill could.)

Rainy days find me indoors doing yoga, strength training or cardio with private trainers—free because the local library offers a wide selection of workout videos. Denise Austin and Jillian Michaels are my new personal fitness gurus. Even in my former employed life I could not have afforded these superstars.

These days, I cook real food. I've always loved from-scratch cooking, but never had time to do much of it. I especially enjoy meals made with natural whole food ingredients (and, no, I don't mean from the Whole Foods grocery store—I mean actual, real whole foods). In other words, slow food.

I have time to watch TV shows such as Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution. I read nutrition blogs. I care about healthy ingredients. I learn about the Slow Food movement, community-supported agriculture (CSAs) and local foods. I have time to visit nearby farmers' markets that are open only during hours I used to be at work.

I'm eating well. I'm exercising.

The irony: Life on the dole is making me healthier and slimmer. Scales don't lie (even if I sometimes wish they did). I actually feel better than I have in years.

No, life on the dole is not making me fat. Those stretchy, roomy sweat pants? I wear them for comfort, not for hiding fat. See, Dad, these pants are OK after all. Wearing them is not a fashion statement; it's only a comfy concession to life on the dole.

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Just For Fun: Check Out My Favorite Food & Nutrition Blogs:

Fed Up With Lunch: The School Lunch Project

Brave New Lunch

Cheap Healthy Good

The Pioneer Woman

Food on the Dole

Joyful Abode

School Lunch: Subtract the Additives

Southern Foodways Alliance

Simple Good and Tasty

Eat at Home

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Want More: Check Out These Great Items:

 

 

 

 

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Photos Courtesy of:

Sumo Wrestler: http://bit.ly/bwQ016

Scales: http://www.flickr.com/photos/alancleaver/ / CC BY 2.0

Swainson's Hawk: http://www.flickr.com/photos/dobak/ / CC BY 2.0

Sweatpants: http://www.flickr.com/photos/simonk/ / CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Fruits & Veggies: Pam Brophy / CC BY-SA 2.0