Everyone please behold this baby tree:

It's so much smaller than the support posts, they had to secure it with caution tape.

Caution: baby!

One day (but not this day)!

Update:

Thriving!

Now taller than a human person!

In case you were wondering!

Update:

Filling out, and up!

We threw it a birthday party once spring arrived. 🎂

You can! Here, to help: 🪣

Happy birthday, little tree. When the sky clears we'll celebrate together again.

Conversations my grandfather has had.

Re: Hobbies

My grandfather was born during The Great Depression. He attended a  one-room school with all the kids in the neighborhood until his teacher deemed him a lost cause. As a problem child he was sent out back with the other misfits during school hours with a stack of comic books to entertain themselves – because they couldn’t read but could look at the pictures. He and the others taught themselves to read so that they could figure out what was going on in the panels. Daredevil and Batman are the only reason he knows how to read. After a fire destroyed his family’s home, he lived in a shack with his mother, father and five other siblings. Suffering third degree burns over more than half of her body during their escape from the blaze, he was removed from school to care for his mother and spent the next few years watching as she slowly died. One of her only comforts was in knowing that he had learned to read so he could make something of himself one day. After losing his wife, my grandfather’s father sold him and his sister to two different families a few counties over. Using the money from those transactions, he was able to keep the remainder of the family afloat. No one knows what became of my great aunt but my grandfather wound up on a farm where he was no longer allowed the luxury of reading, or anything really. My grandfather lived the next handful of years as a slave on a potato farm where he slept in a barn and was given nothing to eat but extra potatoes. If there were no extra potatoes, he did not eat. It is important to remember at this point in time, he was very much still a child. He should have been reading comic books, but instead he was working sixteen hours a day without pay. Finally he could take it no longer and ran away. He hopped into a train car and wound up in the city. By the tender age of twelve he was living in an abandoned building with all the other discarded children of that time period and rats the size of small dogs. He wound up in a gang, fighting for survival in a place that didn’t care enough about starving, suffering children to help them in any way. Sometimes he’d steal comics and read them to the other kids. He was doing things to survive that all his comic book heroes would have condemned him for and that realization, and some good luck, are what got him out of that situation he found himself in. He ran into one of his brothers by sheer accident and neither of them even realized it at the time. Two meetings later, the cat was out of the bag and my grandfather had an “in” to an honest job. He should have been starting high school but instead he was starting a factory job. At least it wasn’t stealing or robbing. At least he was being paid for his manual labor. His first paycheck he gave to the kids he used to run with so that for just one night they wouldn’t have to resort to violence. That is the last time he saw them. He doesn’t know what became of any of them. He met his future wife and through her more doors opened. Driven by this goal to not be The Bad Guy he excelled at all the odd jobs he wound up with and after a lot of heartache and strife, wound up wealthy. Money doesn’t make you exempt from tragedy however. He lost the love of his life before the age of thirty and had to raise their three small children as a single father. Introducing my uncle to comic books is what helped keep him around when, as a teenager, Depression threatened to take him from the world. While still grieving his best friend stole millions from their business leaving him in debt. He’s faced a lot of discrimination solely due to the color of his skin… but none of it has jaded him. If anything it has only, somehow, made him kinder. He is without a doubt the best human being I have ever personally met. He hires maids and maintenance people just to pay them, serves them lunch when they arrive and lets them hang out – just to give them a day off. At eighty he does all his own housework and lawn care. He walks the neighborhood’s dogs. Even though he isn’t rich anymore he still tips fifty percent when he eats out, even at fast food joints. He doesn’t have much time to volunteer but he gives so much of his money to charities and people he runs into on the street who just need something good to happen in their day to make it to the next. And he does all of this to make up for this brief period of time in his life when, as a literal child, he had to hurt people and do bad things to survive. He still lives his life in accordance to some super hero code he picked up as a child that taught himself to read behind a school that gave up on him. Reading matters. Having something unimportant to care about is important. Small things are actually huge. They make the difference. If my grandfather’s origin story has taught me anything it’s that when you’re at your lowest moment, there’s always that one thing that can help guide you through it. “It’s just a hobby” can save lives. Reading, television, art, dancing, gaming, writing, sports, knitting, collecting, singing, whatever gives you joy. Never feel foolish for caring deeply about something commonly viewed as frivolous or a waste of time. It’s not. I cannot stress that enough. It’s okay to like things and for those things to be important to your day to day life. It’s okay.

My grandfather is my favorite person on planet Earth.

Sometimes my grandfather remembers how to text and he sends me the best photos. Mostly pictures of his brother’s fishing gains.

He’s like, really proud of his brother’s innate ability to fish.

For real though, he’s the fish whisperer?

And I care absolutely not at all about fishing, except for my grandfather’s undying support of how good his brother is at it.

But sometimes they are pictures of my cousin juggling?

And putting starfish back into the water?

I don’t wanna say he’s the best at photography, but I think for an 84 year old who got a smart phone all of 2 years ago, he’s pretty much the best at it.

And sometimes he just sends me play-by-plays of various family members falling out of boats. Like my auntie here. Bless.

Oh dear.

Don’t worry, uncle helped. Eventually.

And auntie made it.

We’re in different time zones now, sometimes I wake up to these kinds of photos first thing in the morning. Without context, because he doesn’t know how to do the typing part of texting very well.

Sometimes I get homesick living 3000 miles away, but then I’m reminded that my uncle’s a fairy tale princess whose friend is a wild squirrel that knocks on my uncle’s window when food is scarce, by a timely text from my grandfather and all is right again.

He also has a family of wild ducks that choose to nest in his yard rather than by the lake every year with all the other ducks just because one year the mom duck got tired (relatable) I guess and made an emergency landing there and he respected her space.

Update:

Dreamt I went to visit my grandpa and he sat down with a tray of bacon for dinner. I'm like, "Papa, no! You can't just eat a whole tray of bacon as a meal!" and began looking through his pantry for some rice or a vegetable or something.

He replied, "Oh, don't worry, it's not actual bacon. It's plant based! Practically a salad!"

To which I had to point out, no. Not quite like a salad. So I made him a side dish and put some of the bacon away for later, but was very understanding about it.

I mean, bacon doesn't come in a resealable package. So I can see where, esp. an old person might mistake how it's meant to be portioned as you have to own a completely secondary container available to store the rest in. But.

My brother (uncharacteristically) was there to help out, doing the dishes. So I asked why my grandpa wasn't just using his dishwasher, and upon opening it discovered he was! But he was using the racks to store his magazines and newspapers.

All of this perfectly on brand for my grandpa and somehow an epiphany re: myself. 🤙

Nothing is simple when you’re poor.

While the above is true, there are ways to handle the question if you get asked it in an interview.

Just bc the interviewer ASKS it, doesn't mean you have to ANSWER it.

"do you have reliable transportation?"

"Yes."

That's it. Do not elaborate. Do. Not.

They do not need to know what that type of transportation is. They do not have the RIGHT to ask what that transportation is. Many questions interviewers ask, they ask because they bank on you not knowing it's illegal.

If they press the issue? Be calm, be polite, but be firm.

"what kind of transportation?"

"Reliable transportation. With respect, you're not legally allowed to ask that question."

If they push again? Get firmer.

"I see what you're doing. You're attempting to stonewall me into answering a question that you're not legally allowed to ask, because of preconceived prejudices you may hold. The way you're handling this issue is proof that you would not be a good fit for me as an employer, and I'm ending the interview."

...then collect your belongings and fucking WALK OUT.

I was going to put this in the tags, but fuck it. Some companies will also list some horseshit like “must have valid drivers license” as a requirement when the job requires no driving as a way to get around this. Be wary of those folks, too.

I grew up in poverty, and I spent a lot of time very poor as an adult, and that thing where you just strongly assert your rights then get up and walk out of an interview?  Yeah, LOL, that doesn’t happen when you have zero money and you desperately need that job.  Because the second you assert your rights, you know for a fact that you aren’t getting that job, and no matter how much of an asshole you know that boss will be, generally speaking, any job that pays money is better than no job and no money.

Lie politely.  Please lie.  Make up a car in advance if you have to so that you can answer questions about it as necessary.  Lie politely, blatantly, with a smile on your face.  If an interviewer presses you on this, you do not owe that person honesty.  You never owe a bad boss (or potential boss) honesty.  Do whatever you need to do to get that job.

And then, after you start working there, if anyone asks (and only if they ask!), your previously-reliable totally-not-at-all-fictional car will have unexpectedly broken down and left you taking public transportation.  Tragic!  What a terrible and unexpected thing to happen!  And so terrible and unexpected that it’s taking so long to replace your totally non-fictional car!  How horrible!

Also, if at all possible, keep looking for another job.  I know it’s really hard to do when you work full-time and you’re exhausted, especially if you have kids, but you can do this.

And yeah, nothing is simple when you’re poor.

This is what I was trying to convey here, but this is more succinct. Like I said, “just walk out” feels like a privileged take that (righteously, if not paternalistically) misses the part about being poor and actually needing a job. So yes, lie. Lie politely, lie creatively, lie with a smile, but if you’re existing in poverty and need a job? Then LIE about having transportation. And don’t feel bad about it either. If an employer illegally asks a question they shouldn’t, then you’re allowed to lie about it. Hell, if they try to fire you about it later, threaten to take them to court for illegally asking to begin with. In the meantime, put some food in your belly. Catch up on a few bills. Buy some warm clothes. Feed that baby. You can work everything else out later.

Bosses, landlords, and cops forfeited their right to being told the truth by signing up for those jobs

My grandpa calls these Carnie Rules and basically you are entitled to lie to anyone that has power over you if necessary. 100% guilt and shame free. Bosses, teachers, the police, etc. They would not hesitate to hold truth against you. So fuck 'em!

cemeteries aren't creepy they're actually devoted to memory and rest and love and humanity

They used to be a common place to spend the afternoon and have a picnic and stuff! We should bring this back imo.

As a kid my grandpa used to take me to the donut shop then the florist and we'd eat donuts in the cemetery while placing flowers on all the really old unkempt graves.

the most volatile fb post I saw today was about whether or not corn goes in goulash

My fb errupts into chaos every time I mention my grandpa's chili recipe includes potatoes.