I wish they could just stay puppies.

Besides, I have resolved to write something every day, even if it is nattering nonsense. Well, write something here that is, because I did write other things today, but they don’t seem to count even though that was for pay and this is just for me. The other stuff is just to keep the lights on and the keys to the doors in my hand – which is important enough. Little else gets done without those two. Well, and the phone. I have been trying to impress on my granddaughter – as I apparently failed to impress on my daughter – the “poor folks bill paying priorities.” Rent first, then gas and lights, food (if there are children in the house), then phone and whatever is left can be used for clothes and other items. Saving money is in there somewhere, too, but even that is difficult to do until after the basics are taken care of.

She remembers all that now; I just hope the lesson is still rattling around in her head somewhere when she is out on her own.  She’s pretty responsible, if a little dingbatty sometimes, so I think it will be.

My oldest grandson is pretty cool, too. He came and walked me home from the store today, because while I was on my way to the store I almost had a heart attack. Or, at least I thought I was going to. See… there was this dog. Well, two dogs – I don’t know the breed but they looked kinda like Lassie – a collie, I think she was. Shorter hair, but the same markings and long snouts, about the same height, I guess, but wider and very muscular, like pit bulls. And short tails – I looked, because when one of them came bounding across the street toward me I was so hoping to see a wagging tail. But it wasn’t there. Anyway, there it came at a dead run, right at me – and there was nowhere to hide! The dog reached me and first circled around me and then started jumping at me – but not aggressively or anything, just… well I don’t know what it was doing. I was wearing a puffy black and white jacket so maybe it thought I was a cow and was trying to herd me. Who knows. Still, I stood there, petrified, whispering something like “N-n-nice doggie. Nice doggie.”  I even tried to flag down a passing truck, pointing at the jumping creature and mouthing, “Help! There is a dog. Don’t you see? It’s a DOG! And it’s jumping on me!”

It’s possible the man just thought I was crazy having an episode, or trying to get me and “my” dog into his truck to do him harm or something, because he floored it. Obviously he had no idea the terror those three little letters, d-o-g, hold for me. But my grandson did, so when I called (after the dog had gone and I had tottered into the mall, then gone to another store) he came trotting along to provide protection. Because no way was I going back down that same street by myself. He’s only 14 but taller than me, and most important, not afraid of dogs. Of which, of course, by this time there was no sign. He and my granddaughter (also not afraid of dogs) had a good laugh when I told them what had happened, after I was safely in the house.

So. That was my excitement for the day.

[edited to (hopefully) remove ableist language. ]

Now, I am not the best cook but usually nothing I put before them produces *that* reaction. On my way to see what was wrong I was able to make out some of the words – their older sister’s name stood out prominently, from which I concluded that she was tormenting them again. Sigh.

I came in and was immediately bombarded with complaints about her perfidy, her sacrilege, her unforgivable action. She had, you see, snatched some food from each of their plates and popped it into her mouth – not that big a deal, normally, but this time…. THIS time, she had crossed the line. This time – she’d taken a sprig of their broccoli. Horrors! Tears! Open-mouthed wails!

Weird kids, my grandchildren. So different in personality and looks, but one thing they all share – this inexplicable love of broccoli. I even offer it as a treat sometimes if they will behave and do this or that thing, because they love it so much. And don’t get me wrong – I, too, like munching on the crunchy springs from time to time. Nothing, though, on the level of these kids.

Anyway, to shut the two-year old up (the five-year old was not far behind him in volume) I had to take them into the kitchen to see the pot full of little green trees that was left to convince the small ones that the world had not ended (or, at least, that the broccoli had not ended) when their sister pilfered their food. (Which she did in the first place just to be annoying, because she had her own perfectly full plate to eat from.)

I think the 2-year-old watches too much TV, though, because once things calmed down and he was back in his seat, worn out from the stress of possibly not having his fill of brocolli, he leaned his head on his hand, gave a world-weary sigh and said, “I need a baba, man.”

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As far as I can tell she doesn’t speak a word of English, though she understands some, and her Spanish is way too fast for me to follow, but somehow we communicate. In fact, the language barrier didn’t stop her from talking me into buying a bag of cactus one time. I’m sure cactus is lovely in meals, but as I haven’t a clue how to cook it my one foray into adventurous cooking was not all that successful. Still, I’ll probably buy another bag if she brings it again, but my favorites are the fruits and, of course, the tamales.

She’s probably in her 50s or 60s and, come to think of it, she may not actually be Mexican. I say this because, for one thing I really don’t know, and for another … well, when she first started bringing around the tamales they were pretty awful – bland and the masa falling apart and all kinds of stuff. Not, of course, that all Mexicans or all Latin@s are born knowing how to make tamales, or anything – she may have been an office worker or a doctor or something in her home country and is just selling tamales here as a way to make a little extra income - but if one is going to sell them, I think they should at least taste good, no?

Anyway, she kept bringing them and I kept buying them and over time they got better and better, until now they are very tasty, the masa is firm and they are well-wrapped. Yum. I look forward to her ringing the doorbell even if she does keep her finger on the button so that it goes ding!ding!ding!ding! – I can live with that.

Except when she showed up at my door yesterday, I wasn’t so happy to see her because I didn’t have any money for tamales or anything else. Feeding six people is a lot different from feeding two, and we tend to run out of money and food long before we run out of month, as they say. So when she rang – ding!ding!ding!ding! -and said somethingsomething tamales! I opened the door and said, “No, sorry. I don’t have any money!”

She didn’t quite understand at first and for the life of me I couldn’t remember the word “dinero”, so I rubbed my fingers together (I think that is the international sign language for money?) and shook my head, saying I don’t have any money, no cash. She nods as if she understands and then reaches into her basket and starts picking up tamales and putting them in the foil wrapper anyway!

So here I am out there saying, no no, and here she is saying who knows what (she really is the fastest talker I have met in any language) and calmly counting out a bunch of tamales and putting them into the foil – and then all of a sudden I catch the word “Sabado”.

Sabado? I say. I can pay you on Saturday? She smiles, nods decisively, puts the package of tamales in my hands, says a bunch of stuff and repeats Sabado and starts to walk off again with her basket almost before I can thank her.

Tamales are a treat anyway but that night they tasted especially good – not only because they made a change from the simple, spare meals we’d been having, but because they were flavored with… what? The milk of human kindness? The graciousness of one woman who saw more than just a customer, and more than what her customer told her?

I don’t know, but sometimes someone shows up at just the perfect time to remind me that although all may not be right with the world, some people make the world worth living in.

[tamale photo is from here]

what am i?

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I think this is one the best.

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[updated title and category]