The Purpose of God

I'm (finally) reading Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale for the first time, and a line about halfway through the book jumped out at me. The narrator is talking to God about loved ones with whom she's lost contact, and she says, "You might even provide a Heaven for them. We need You for that. Hell we can make for ourselves."

I had thought of the development of religion in a more granular way, as being helpful in explaining natural phenomena or acting as an excuse to dominate other people(s) -- as a collection of small reasons that gradually became a larger agenda. But Atwood's words are so simple, so succinct, and frame the concept in a way that's achingly sad: we're excellent at being miserable and making each other miserable, but to concieve of being truly happy we need our omnipotent creator. We wish and hope and dream about being happy... but only when we're dead and in the arms of a god we've spent our lives trying to please but simultaneously mucking everything up because we can't agree on how to do it.

Hell we can make for ourselves. And Lord, are we ever good at it.

Evolution

My little black cat is named Kira (a reference to both the Celtic name Kiera, meaning the dark one, and Kira Nerys, a Star Trek character). When I started spending time with my boyfriend, I found that he likes to play with her name; he'll make little alterations to it to suit his fancy.

One of the first such alterations was Kira Wildebeest. Apparently her manner struck him as wildebeest-like one day, and he's stuck with that ever since. Then, we discovered that she loves the taste of duck, so she became Kira Duck Wildebeest.

When we play with her feet, we talk about her toepads as "beans," and today I was chattering at her about her beans, li'l black beans, frijoles negros, and then the idea of her being a Black Bean Burrito hit me, so I told my boyfriend.

"Wildebeest and Black Bean Burrito," was his response. "Gotta have some meat in there!"

So now my little black cat is Kira, Wildebeest and Black Bean Burrito.

Because life is too short to not embrace a little absurdity now and then.

Fridge Forager

Those moments when I throw open the pantry and fridge and try to pull together something easy and tasty are always exciting. Will I come up with something amazing? Will this be a meal that even the racoons won't touch? It's like my own personal episode of a cooking-related reality show!

Tonight's "episode" was born of necessity; the meal needed to be quick and easy, include protein, only use one pan, and not involve pasta or rice. If I could avoid opening new containers without immediately emptying them, so much the better.

I won. It wouldn't be to everyone's liking, but I was thrilled with the result: scrambled eggs with sprats (similar to sardines) and beetroot-and-horseradish chutney that's been in the fridge since before I moved in. The chutney lightened the oiliness of the fish, the savoriness of the fish played well with the eggs, and it all just worked.

Happy cook, and happy cats who got to lick off the plate.

Section 8

When I started at my current job, I was in a difficult housing situation and trying to pay off a small mountain of debt as quickly as possible. As my coworkers got to know me over those first few months, they heard the horror stories about my then-housemate, and sympathized because most of them had been in similar situations at one point or another.

Since then, things have improved considerably -- I've moved away from the now-ex-housemate, have no housing expenses thanks to the generosity of my partner, and am making headway on my debt -- but there are a few coworkers who haven't heard about the improvements because we work on opposite sides of the building now. One of them came to me this morning to offer me an application for Section 8 (low-income) housing in the town I used to live in, because she thought it might help me get out of the awful situation I'd been in.

I'm touched that she's looking out for me. I'm also dismayed to learn how many of my coworkers are in subsidized housing. To my mind, it speaks poorly of an employer when a significant number of their full-time employees have to rely on social welfare programs to survive. It's a clear sign that wages are too low, and that the employer doesn't actually value his employees.

So... looks like I'll be hitting the job listings again. I wasn't looking forward to seeing how winter weather affects my new commute anyway, so I guess it works out.

Hot Stuff

When you've got a fire going and it's not quite as active as you'd like it to be, sloshing gasoline from the can on the fire will give it some extra oomph... and also set the gas can on fire. The scorch mark in the back yard is evidence of my housemate learning this lesson the hard way.

Principalities

There's a company in Florida called Prince of Palletees. I came across one of their pallets in the course of my work today. Giggled for a solid minute. It's nice to be easily amused.

Skill Set

Sometime last year, I watched Mudbound on Netflix. It was well-done, if uncomfortable at times, as period pieces dealing with racial and class issues should be. For some reason, while the rest of the movie has faded into a fuzzy memory, one scene, of a woman slaughtering a chicken, is still vivid and sharp in my mind. She used a technique I hadn't seen before, one that wasn't bloody, and didn't require tools.

I put that technique to use for the first time today. Shortly before I moved in, my housemate bought a bunch of chicks, five of which were supposed to be pullets (females). Four of them turned out to be cockerels (males). She slaughtered two of them about a month ago, and the other two have been living on borrowed time... and crowing at 5am.

Knowing she's about to start a full-time job and won't have as much free time, she spent a few minutes trying to catch them this morning but wasn't quick enough, so I grabbed a helper and got both of them. After one escaped her grasp and the other drew her blood, I did what needed to be done and handed them back to her for plucking.

I'm proud of myself for being able to do something I find difficult (not physically challenging, but emotionally -- taking a life is no small thing), but upset that I was in a situation where I felt I had to be the one to step in and do it. I've been in too many situations like that over the years, heard that voice in my head saying, "if I don't do this, nobody else will, and it needs to be done." It's a rough way to build experience and toughness. The scar tissue never goes away.

People who can't imagine having to step up like that will glorify it and call me courageous. I hate it. I hate that people like that are the reason why I have these scars. I do what needs to be done because they won't, and I resent their weakness. Don't praise my strength, develop your own.