Hot Sandwich
Growing up there were four of us kids that all lived under the same roof. When there was hot food around it was because my mother made it and we accepted what she made and it was always good. After a while my mom started working nights and so the eldest children had to cook for the younger ones and I became pretty good at the basics in the ghetto. That is Kool-Aid, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and my favorite was simply fried bologna and cheese. There isn’t much to making most sandwiches and this one is probably the simplest. It goes right up there with brushing your teeth, on the list of simple things.
First you need to get all your ingredients together and set them together within an easily accessible reach.
Ingredients
1. White Bread
2. 2 slices of Bologna
3. 1 slice of American Cheese
4. The tangy zip of Miracle Whip
Turn on the stove as high as it will go, then back down about one notch. Lay your skillet on the stove burner and add about 2 tablespoons of butter to the skillet. Allow the butter to coat the entire surface of the skillet. Add your 2 slices of bologna to the pan until the meat bubbles in the center then flip. After you flip them the meat will be turned up like a bowl, but continue to cook until the bologna lies back down, then turn the burner off all the way.
Add whatever amount of Miracle Whip you choose to your bread and then both pieces of cheese. Right out of the pan use a fork to slap the bologna on the bread and cheese and let it sit a few minutes so that the heat of the bologna can melt the cheese. Enjoy your low budget meal.
There is a door that leads you out of our dining room and into the kitchen. Once you walk through this door there is an island, to the left but smack dab in the middle of the room. To your right you will see a counter top big enough to lie down on and stretch your arms out above your head. Under that counter there are a couple of cabinets full of different kinds of pots and pans and all sorts of scarcely used utensils. If you make a left and watch out for the island then right over head about three feet in front of you, you will see the kitchen’s sink. Above the kitchen sink there are more cabinets filled with all sorts of boxed foods and some different kinds of mixes. Also in this same cabinet there are two jars of peanut butter. Look around for the one with the red label and not the blue one. The blue jar is chunky peanut butter and you don’t want to go there. Turn right and you can’t miss our double wide refrigerator and in there you will find the bread and maybe even a knife left over from another dish that you could surely wash and use to make yourself a peanut butter sandwich.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
I Stir
I wonder how things will turn out after this semester. Will I be able to finish the race to the end or will I fall before I reach the finish line? I often wonder how things will develop with regards to the friends that I have made this semester. Will we know one another in a few years or will we survive as a faint memory? This year has been one of test. It has tried my patience and corrected. This year I find myself planning for my future more than I ever had before and I find myself losing the battle of my spirit. I found the love of God in the winter of 2008 and ever since my life has been totally different. I live close to downtown, and every Friday and Saturday night I can hear the roar of the college kids having the time of their lives and I think about how fun that might be. I find myself in turmoil, stuck between wanting to go out and party with friends and dealing with my need to do what I know is better for me. Sometimes I wonder if I would even enjoy myself if I went out to a bar. I don’t drink and I don’t smoke anymore and I don’t even like the smell of the places anymore. It would not be a place that I could go to in order to meet anybody with any kind of self-control. I imagine myself in the middle of two girls puking and possibly some fight going on behind me and all of a sudden I don’t want to go to the bar anymore. Ten minutes after that feeling goes away another one storms its way into my mind. I look into the night’s sky and I see and hear the explosion of the fireworks at Hammons Stadium. The bright colors and the noise remind me of the years I spent working at Busch Stadium in St. Louis. So much life in one place all gathered together in the name of the great American pastime. Ten I think about all the drunken people I used to have to ride the metro link train with and I instantly forget about going out to a baseball game. I sit on my patio thinking about what to do and tapping my fingers wishing there were more to this town than bars and restaurants. I wind up doing what I always do and putting on some “feel good” music and lying down to a movie and snacks. It seems like the only thing that I can do without feeling some sort of guilt, without feeling like I would be going against what I believe in order to do it. Still I think the devil knows what his angle will need to be if he is ever to gain a foothold in my life. The buzz of the night life is a lure that remains. Part of me feels as if I am missing out on a part of my youth by denying myself simple pleasures. Another side of me wants that to be over so I can move on to the next chapter of my life. Is there a common ground where the transition can occur in a smooth fashion?
Friday, April 24, 2009
If you have read any of my free writings you would know that this woman that I love has a hold of my heart. I think more than wanting to rekindle a dying flame; I just want to fall in love again. There is a difference between being lost without her and just plain old tired of being alone. I’m tired of avoiding going out to eat because I don’t want to eat by myself. I tire of the coldness of my sheets and I am so tired of trying to act like everything is alright. Nothing is the same and I just wish that I could cope a little better. I have all this money in the bank and no one to spend it on. I have all this energy and enthusiasm and I am only getting older. I see all the things that I am missing out on but I won’t allow myself to act like a victim to this. Sure, in my writings I can only express the truth in my heart but my hope is that when people see me I don’t simply radiate with self pity. My aim is to emit some sort of light that is attractive to those around me. My goal is to glow in such a way that my personality just spills over into the laps of my friends, giving them the motivation get over themselves.
I think back on the way that I used to be and I am happy about the fact that I have changed inside. I have changed for the better in the way that I treat people and it is as if my heart knows better than to assume that people will always be there. I used to assume that she would always be there but look at how that blew up in my smug face. So the, “new me” so to speak, is trying to be more humble and gracious and conscious to the fact that people are precious. [I wish I could explain some things without using classic clichés.]
I think back on the way that I used to be and I am happy about the fact that I have changed inside. I have changed for the better in the way that I treat people and it is as if my heart knows better than to assume that people will always be there. I used to assume that she would always be there but look at how that blew up in my smug face. So the, “new me” so to speak, is trying to be more humble and gracious and conscious to the fact that people are precious. [I wish I could explain some things without using classic clichés.]
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Love
I think the hardest thing about being in love is the fact that sometimes you’ll find yourself thinking that everything is fine and that you are on the same page as the person you love until somewhere along the road communication breaks down. You say to yourself that if there was a problem he or she would say so. If ever we needed to talk to one another that the lines of communication are strong and always open. If ever I didn’t have anyone else to confide in that I can always count on my love to be there.
Too often we have traveled down roads blind and now we consider ourselves a bit wiser and a bit more cautious than we were. Too often we allow ourselves to slip into this mode of gentleness and soft eyes, all previous heartaches had robbed us of, until the wall falls down. We must open the gates in order to let them in but in doing so we sometimes become prematurely defenseless. We don’t see the break and maybe it’s because we don’t want it to be over just yet. Maybe it’s because we have been lonely and so we are willing to put up with a little more each day because we don’t want to be alone.
Don’t get me wrong, we are not weak individuals. You must understand that there is a lot of energy and a lot of work that goes into forging a successful relationship. It would just be a shame to let something so painstaking just shatter because of something so, unnecessary. We’ve gotten ourselves into the habit of letting the little things go and not holding grudges. Enough time goes by and we don’t even feel the tug when they begin to pull away. We don’t notice when the arguments become silence or when the wildfire becomes a dimly glowing ember.
We make more and more excuses for them and sometimes we even allow ourselves to believe the lies. Some of us are looking for that first high all over again but those of us who have been under the influence know that the first high is the sweetest. To every person who has never felt like they needed an anonymous meeting after coming down, I’m here to tell you that it won’t ever be the same, but we never stop looking for that sweet love.
Does the events that occur in our relationships today, affect how we trust tomorrow? Will we ever be able to put forth the same amount or more effort than we did when we were blinded by our foolish hearts? What does that mean? Are we forever scarred by the trauma or can we choose? I think we are always left with the choice except most people have a limit on how much they are willing to put themselves through. We wonder how they could pleasure putting us through so much pain. A man won’t usually fall in love more than a few times before something inside him snaps in two. One day he will turn away, dry his eyes, and erect the walls again. If he does fall in love again, he won’t say so, for the fear of being made fool at heart again.
If you could examine the condition of my heart you would see something in the likeness of a stone. If you could touch it you would feel something like a hard callous at just above room temperature. If you dropped it to the ground I would feel no pain. If it fell to the dirt it would not bounce and if it fell into water it would surely sink.
Too often we have traveled down roads blind and now we consider ourselves a bit wiser and a bit more cautious than we were. Too often we allow ourselves to slip into this mode of gentleness and soft eyes, all previous heartaches had robbed us of, until the wall falls down. We must open the gates in order to let them in but in doing so we sometimes become prematurely defenseless. We don’t see the break and maybe it’s because we don’t want it to be over just yet. Maybe it’s because we have been lonely and so we are willing to put up with a little more each day because we don’t want to be alone.
Don’t get me wrong, we are not weak individuals. You must understand that there is a lot of energy and a lot of work that goes into forging a successful relationship. It would just be a shame to let something so painstaking just shatter because of something so, unnecessary. We’ve gotten ourselves into the habit of letting the little things go and not holding grudges. Enough time goes by and we don’t even feel the tug when they begin to pull away. We don’t notice when the arguments become silence or when the wildfire becomes a dimly glowing ember.
We make more and more excuses for them and sometimes we even allow ourselves to believe the lies. Some of us are looking for that first high all over again but those of us who have been under the influence know that the first high is the sweetest. To every person who has never felt like they needed an anonymous meeting after coming down, I’m here to tell you that it won’t ever be the same, but we never stop looking for that sweet love.
Does the events that occur in our relationships today, affect how we trust tomorrow? Will we ever be able to put forth the same amount or more effort than we did when we were blinded by our foolish hearts? What does that mean? Are we forever scarred by the trauma or can we choose? I think we are always left with the choice except most people have a limit on how much they are willing to put themselves through. We wonder how they could pleasure putting us through so much pain. A man won’t usually fall in love more than a few times before something inside him snaps in two. One day he will turn away, dry his eyes, and erect the walls again. If he does fall in love again, he won’t say so, for the fear of being made fool at heart again.
If you could examine the condition of my heart you would see something in the likeness of a stone. If you could touch it you would feel something like a hard callous at just above room temperature. If you dropped it to the ground I would feel no pain. If it fell to the dirt it would not bounce and if it fell into water it would surely sink.
Monday, April 20, 2009
It’s funny the things you miss when they are gone, the people, the places that seem to ring forever inside of you and leave behind a tender longing and fond memories. If you asked me six months ago what I thought the best thing in my life was I would have told you that I don’t know. However if you ask me now what I think the most important thing in my life is I will stand up and tell you that being a good man is the only thing I care about. She left such a stain on which I am that most nights I recall all the unfortunate choices I made and I want to be different. When does change truly begin in a person? Is it when that person becomes sick to their stomach of the consequences of their actions or is it when they realize that nothing they do or no amount of materials can bring them the kind of satisfaction that loving another person can bring? I search most nights for a cure to my ailments and I wake up in the morning having found nothing beneficial to me and slowly my drive is diminished. I want to earn for myself a new sense of being because some things in this life I have found are simply worth fighting for. Some things mean so much for so long that they become the sole purpose of your life and the key reason why you make the decisions you make and the reason why you start the car in the morning and drive. I miss being able to hop in the car and go and I miss the trips out of town with her and I miss just laying in the bed and letting her long pretty hair fall on my eyes. I miss giving gifts and bringing a smile to her face and I miss taking care of her when she was ill. I miss the beginning, when we would stay up late at night just talking on the phone and laughing. I miss the times when we would wrestle on the bed and wind up on the floor making love. I miss taking showers with her and I miss the smell of her sweet perfume. Still, all I want is to be a better man, to somehow not fall victim of the flaws in me that lead me to the place where I am.
Without fail, every night I find myself full of regret when faced with the thoughts of who I really am. No one knows the real me and it just, flat out stinks when you live a double life. Often I have to check myself in order to keep that old sinful man in line with the desires of my heart. Inside me, one man is outgoing and eager and the other is introverted and unhappy. The good man is timid yet generous and kind. The bad man dives head first into his life without the slightest care for anyone else but himself. The bad man is a thrill seeker and the good man is a fire fighter who is actively involved in the lives of his friends and family. I often ask myself how and why this duo coexists. I ask myself how can there be peace.
On the nights when I happen to dream I am plagued by the poor decisions I have made and I am made a fool when I can finally see what I should have done. Sometimes I will happen to notice a nice couple holding hands and the sight of their closeness is like a dagger. Their smiles dredge up photo like memories, seemingly insignificant things that I have stashed away, in a place where I pray they can do no more harm. Still, I grind my teeth in my sleep until small bits break under the pressure and in the morning I am always in need of a few aspirins and a cigarette. When I brush my teeth and tongue I often look in the mirror and recite a few, necessary lies, telling myself things will be alright, if only I could make it through the moment. Then I take a breath and nothing has changed and that bad man mocks me, telling me how stupid I am for denying myself. Why don’t you stop in the bar and remember what it tastes like to have a beer or two among friends. Remember how much fun you used to have he says, and his voice echoes in my mind. The good man in me crawls out of his shell and tells that intimidating persona, that he can shove his bar beauties and he can keep his nightlife. And as he nestles back inside his hideout he prays for love.
On the nights when I happen to dream I am plagued by the poor decisions I have made and I am made a fool when I can finally see what I should have done. Sometimes I will happen to notice a nice couple holding hands and the sight of their closeness is like a dagger. Their smiles dredge up photo like memories, seemingly insignificant things that I have stashed away, in a place where I pray they can do no more harm. Still, I grind my teeth in my sleep until small bits break under the pressure and in the morning I am always in need of a few aspirins and a cigarette. When I brush my teeth and tongue I often look in the mirror and recite a few, necessary lies, telling myself things will be alright, if only I could make it through the moment. Then I take a breath and nothing has changed and that bad man mocks me, telling me how stupid I am for denying myself. Why don’t you stop in the bar and remember what it tastes like to have a beer or two among friends. Remember how much fun you used to have he says, and his voice echoes in my mind. The good man in me crawls out of his shell and tells that intimidating persona, that he can shove his bar beauties and he can keep his nightlife. And as he nestles back inside his hideout he prays for love.
What is a Place?
I was arrested in January of 2007 on a probation violation and I was held in the Greene County Jail on a warrant for failure to appear at my probation office. I was technically on the run from the law and now my mistakes had finally caught up with me and the law had me pinned down. This was not the first time I had been arrested but it would be the last but I just hadn’t made that choice for myself yet. Sure, I had said on more than one occasion that I was tired of feeling like I wasn’t in complete control of my life and that I was tired of being subjected to the will of other men but nothing had ever changed. I had gone in front of the judge before and made him all sorts of promises in order to keep my hind end out of the penitentiary but now I had returned because I did not keep my end of the bargain and so he was upset with me to say the least. Normally, when you are arrested on a warrant you will go in front of the judge at the next earliest convenience, somewhere in the neighborhood of one or two days depending on what day you got arrested. In my case I was held for five full weeks before I saw anybody wearing a full length black robe.
Allow me to back up a bit and tell you what it is like to be arrested and then I will take you through the process of being put into the county jail. I have already informed you that I have been arrested on more than one occasion and I will add that my life until this point has been a domino effect of chains and heartache. At any rate, I was arrested in January right after Christmas. I had the day off from work and I had picked up my check and was on my way to the bank and I guess you could say that the day started off as if it was going to be beautiful. I was stopped on the street by a police officer at about 1:30 in the afternoon and I made no issues about stopping and answering his question. I had been questioned before for what I like to call, (DWB) driving while black, and so to me it was just an inconvenience that would take up anywhere between 5 to 10 minutes of my time. Yes, I was a bit annoyed but it was just a part of being me at the time. Sometimes you get pulled over and sometimes you went to jail and that was just the chance you take. I saw my life in a very dim light and I lived everyday in the moment, and somehow I considered the way I lived to be much richer and fuller than those who simply accepted the mundane and scheduled lives they led. The officer ran my name and the rest is history, I went to jail, but not quietly. I put up a big huff and puff show and before you knew it the officers were wrestling me to the ground and people were driving by in the cars, breaking their necks to get a good look at the show in the street. I wasn’t ashamed of myself or anything like that, I was just angry.
I arrived at the jailhouse and was led into an area, known as the pit. It is a holding area where you just wait until it’s your turn to be booked. There are four steps leading down into the shallow pit and about five rows of six blue plastic chairs. In the middle of the pit there is a dividing wall to separate the men from the women and on the wall there are phones that can be used, that is if anyone will accept. From the moment I walked into the jail until the moment I was taken to the pit I still had not really had the dose of reality I so dreadfully needed. I smelled the overpowering smell of household cleaners in high concentration and I heard nothing. I had so many thoughts going through my head that it was as if I had gone deaf to the outside world. I was so consumed with my own thoughts that nothing else mattered. I sank down as deep as I could into those unforgiving blue chairs and managed to fall asleep. When I woke I had been in the pit for about six hours and now I still hadn’t been allowed to make my non collect phone call. So I started to complain to the officer in charge and after about another half an hour I was finally able to call my girlfriend and let her know that I would not be home for dinner and why. I was still under the assumption that this whole ordeal would be over shortly and when I got off of the phone I was reassured that things would be taken care of.
Then the booking process started and it is a cycle to say the least. I was asked to step out of the pit and up to the guard station and then I was bombarded with a battery of questions by some slightly attractive lady cop. Questions regarding demographics and some related to mental health like, “have you ever attempted suicide Mr. Moller?” After initial questioning I was photographed and then fingerprinted and asked to return to my seat. It was going on eight hours now and I still hadn’t made it past the first few checkpoints, but all I kept thinking about was how good it would feel to make it to my cell so I could fall asleep and see the judge the next day. Still before long I made it to the last step in the process of being booked in and that is changing your clothes and putting on my new Greene County issued Bob Barker jumpsuit. An office led me to a changing area where I was asked to strip out of all of my clothes and follow all instructions. I stepped into the room and it was only as big as a man’s closet with a little open window so that the guard can watch my every move. I dropped my pants and lost my shirt along with all my other undergarments and I waited to be handed my change of clothes while the officer bagged and tagged my personal things. In this jail they give you a half a bar of soap and a Dixie cup full of some kind of generic lice treatment that everyone must use before entering the jail. You must take a shower as well but I knew from experience that the water would be ice cold. I wanted to get everything over with as soon as possible and just get to my cell but things would not be that easy. I reached for my new clothing from the officer but he demanded that I go through the whole rigmarole of proving that I was not smuggling anything into the jail and that is when things got a little dicey. I told him very flatly that I would do no such thing. I was never forced into doing anything so degrading before and I wasn’t going to start today at his request. He asked me again to lift my scrotum for him and I again met his request with a firm, hell no. He asked me just wasn’t any way that I was going to do that. I think that he wanted to press the issue even more but then he caved in, apparently not wanting to deal with another belligerent individual that evening. He called me a few unsavory names and told me to hurry and get dressed and so I did. The showers in booking are stainless steel and about the size of a double wide coffin, just big enough to turn around in. When I emerged from the shower, I felt a few degrees colder but I was ready to end my night and go to sleep. I slipped into the hunter green jumpsuit that night and into the only thing I would wind up wearing for the next six and a half months. It was the beginning of a long overdue process that would leave me forever changed. It was the end of everything I knew about living and the beginning of things that my grandmother had prayed for me all those years ago. I entered cell block D as 140932 and I left a shell of a man waiting to be filled.
I was arrested in January of 2007 on a probation violation and I was held in the Greene County Jail on a warrant for failure to appear at my probation office. I was technically on the run from the law and now my mistakes had finally caught up with me and the law had me pinned down. This was not the first time I had been arrested but it would be the last but I just hadn’t made that choice for myself yet. Sure, I had said on more than one occasion that I was tired of feeling like I wasn’t in complete control of my life and that I was tired of being subjected to the will of other men but nothing had ever changed. I had gone in front of the judge before and made him all sorts of promises in order to keep my hind end out of the penitentiary but now I had returned because I did not keep my end of the bargain and so he was upset with me to say the least. Normally, when you are arrested on a warrant you will go in front of the judge at the next earliest convenience, somewhere in the neighborhood of one or two days depending on what day you got arrested. In my case I was held for five full weeks before I saw anybody wearing a full length black robe.
Allow me to back up a bit and tell you what it is like to be arrested and then I will take you through the process of being put into the county jail. I have already informed you that I have been arrested on more than one occasion and I will add that my life until this point has been a domino effect of chains and heartache. At any rate, I was arrested in January right after Christmas. I had the day off from work and I had picked up my check and was on my way to the bank and I guess you could say that the day started off as if it was going to be beautiful. I was stopped on the street by a police officer at about 1:30 in the afternoon and I made no issues about stopping and answering his question. I had been questioned before for what I like to call, (DWB) driving while black, and so to me it was just an inconvenience that would take up anywhere between 5 to 10 minutes of my time. Yes, I was a bit annoyed but it was just a part of being me at the time. Sometimes you get pulled over and sometimes you went to jail and that was just the chance you take. I saw my life in a very dim light and I lived everyday in the moment, and somehow I considered the way I lived to be much richer and fuller than those who simply accepted the mundane and scheduled lives they led. The officer ran my name and the rest is history, I went to jail, but not quietly. I put up a big huff and puff show and before you knew it the officers were wrestling me to the ground and people were driving by in the cars, breaking their necks to get a good look at the show in the street. I wasn’t ashamed of myself or anything like that, I was just angry.
I arrived at the jailhouse and was led into an area, known as the pit. It is a holding area where you just wait until it’s your turn to be booked. There are four steps leading down into the shallow pit and about five rows of six blue plastic chairs. In the middle of the pit there is a dividing wall to separate the men from the women and on the wall there are phones that can be used, that is if anyone will accept. From the moment I walked into the jail until the moment I was taken to the pit I still had not really had the dose of reality I so dreadfully needed. I smelled the overpowering smell of household cleaners in high concentration and I heard nothing. I had so many thoughts going through my head that it was as if I had gone deaf to the outside world. I was so consumed with my own thoughts that nothing else mattered. I sank down as deep as I could into those unforgiving blue chairs and managed to fall asleep. When I woke I had been in the pit for about six hours and now I still hadn’t been allowed to make my non collect phone call. So I started to complain to the officer in charge and after about another half an hour I was finally able to call my girlfriend and let her know that I would not be home for dinner and why. I was still under the assumption that this whole ordeal would be over shortly and when I got off of the phone I was reassured that things would be taken care of.
Then the booking process started and it is a cycle to say the least. I was asked to step out of the pit and up to the guard station and then I was bombarded with a battery of questions by some slightly attractive lady cop. Questions regarding demographics and some related to mental health like, “have you ever attempted suicide Mr. Moller?” After initial questioning I was photographed and then fingerprinted and asked to return to my seat. It was going on eight hours now and I still hadn’t made it past the first few checkpoints, but all I kept thinking about was how good it would feel to make it to my cell so I could fall asleep and see the judge the next day. Still before long I made it to the last step in the process of being booked in and that is changing your clothes and putting on my new Greene County issued Bob Barker jumpsuit. An office led me to a changing area where I was asked to strip out of all of my clothes and follow all instructions. I stepped into the room and it was only as big as a man’s closet with a little open window so that the guard can watch my every move. I dropped my pants and lost my shirt along with all my other undergarments and I waited to be handed my change of clothes while the officer bagged and tagged my personal things. In this jail they give you a half a bar of soap and a Dixie cup full of some kind of generic lice treatment that everyone must use before entering the jail. You must take a shower as well but I knew from experience that the water would be ice cold. I wanted to get everything over with as soon as possible and just get to my cell but things would not be that easy. I reached for my new clothing from the officer but he demanded that I go through the whole rigmarole of proving that I was not smuggling anything into the jail and that is when things got a little dicey. I told him very flatly that I would do no such thing. I was never forced into doing anything so degrading before and I wasn’t going to start today at his request. He asked me again to lift my scrotum for him and I again met his request with a firm, hell no. He asked me just wasn’t any way that I was going to do that. I think that he wanted to press the issue even more but then he caved in, apparently not wanting to deal with another belligerent individual that evening. He called me a few unsavory names and told me to hurry and get dressed and so I did. The showers in booking are stainless steel and about the size of a double wide coffin, just big enough to turn around in. When I emerged from the shower, I felt a few degrees colder but I was ready to end my night and go to sleep. I slipped into the hunter green jumpsuit that night and into the only thing I would wind up wearing for the next six and a half months. It was the beginning of a long overdue process that would leave me forever changed. It was the end of everything I knew about living and the beginning of things that my grandmother had prayed for me all those years ago. I entered cell block D as 140932 and I left a shell of a man waiting to be filled.
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