Why do EBT card holders get to eat better than me?

As my wife and I struggle to put enough money away to buy a home and plan for having a child, I’m left wondering why others don’t have to be responsible for their own lives.

I was at Sam’s Club the other day, and was in line behind two full shopping carts full of racks of ribs, tenderloins, pork chops, soda, a ton of junk food, ribeyes, and a tons of other stuff totaling out to over $800. As she paid with her EBT card, I couldn’t help but wonder what it feels like to be able to buy as much top dollar food as you want with redistributed money of others, or if that would even cross the mind.

Does our current system give people any reason to stop taking advantage, stop having kids they can’t pay for, to be thankful for what they are given, or encourage them to get off the system to support their own existence? Like Romney I’m talking about the leaches, not the vets, retirees, or handicapped, so keep that in mind.

Save the BS, I don’t feel like arguing about how heartless I am or people who are critical of our failed systems are. I don’t need to hear sad stories, I’ve experienced my own. I just want to know what you think about our welfare system, and its contribution to our entitlement society and the debt.

How to Host a Monthly Poetry Wine and Chocolate Party

Introduction

I first will describe the monthly wine and chocolate poetry parties which I often attended while living in Moscow, Idaho 2006 to 2010. Then I will suggest general guidelines for periodically hosting a poetry party.
One of my favorite poets
One of my favorite poets | Source
The Origin of Poetry Nights in Moscow, Idaho

The monthly poetry party in Moscow, Idaho, with its circle of those who either frequently or sometimes attendeded, had already been well established for several years when my wife and I moved there in summer 2006. Moscow is a university town, home of University of Idaho. A few months after our arrival in town, we heard by word of mouth about the monthly gathering that locals called “poetry night,” and we asked to be added to the e-mail contact list. After we began attending, we in turn from time to time told someone about ‘poetry night’ or brought an acquaintance as a first time guest. There was no attempt to limit or control who or how many could come, yet it all worked out. For those not on the e-mail contact list, finding out about ‘poetry night’ was by word-of-mouth.

Usually ‘poetry night’ was hosted by a couple who were each active in the community both professionally and in volunteer activities. I’ll call them Adam and Zoe. The story they told about the origin of having a monthly wine and chocolate potluck poetry party was that “a few years ago” their grown son while home for a visit suggested the idea to them. I do not know if the notion just popped into his head or if he had experienced such a poetry party elsewhere.

Specifically, he suggested that Adam and Zoe invite some friends and acquaintances over for a Saturday evening and ask each to bring from one to a few poems that they like (or, if they wished, original poems), plus a bottle of wine or anything chocolate to share.
Poetry Nights in Moscow, Idaho Continued

They tried it, and it was such a pleasant success that they made ‘poetry night’ a monthly happening. Zoe took charge of maintaining an email contact list.

Certain fluctuating Saturday evenings were most convenient for partying for them because of the vicissitudes of their schedules. Zoe would send a group e-mail saying which Saturday evenings in the coming month were possibilities and polling the preferences of those on the list. Then she and Adam would choose on which Saturday evening that month they would host ‘poetry night’, and she would send an e-mail announcement. A ‘poetry night’ started at 7PM in the winter and at 7:30PM in the summer.

Sometimes if Zoe and Adam were going on a trip or if they just wanted a break from hosting, Zoe would ask by e-mail if another household in the ‘poetry night’ circle would host that month.

Zoe has said that in her years of hosting monthly poetry parties, no two of them has had the same people attending and each has had its unique character.

How to Travel by Bus in Mexico.

Public transportation in Mexico is an art form. Practically every bus I’ve ever ridden in Mexico would win some sort of accolade in the Art Car contest! The buses of today are indeed more modern and less highly decorated, but the flavor still remains.

Having the right attitude makes all the difference when choosing to travel by bus in a foreign country. When in Mexico, do as the Mexicans do! If you want to travel on the cheap ‘chicken buses’, enjoy the hustle and bustle of the typical bus terminals. Laugh at the cute chickens or baby pigs tucked in the arms of the lady in the seat next to you. Offer to hold her baby while she prepares a mystery lunch and offers you some of it. You took your anti-diarrhea medicine before you boarded, right? These days, the system of buses is so modern that it will be hard to find a ‘chicken’ bus.

Most tourists and middle class Mexicans now travel comfortably by bus using the Executivo class, Luxury class, First class and Second class depending on how much you want to spend. Executivo class is the best and most expensive.

There must be a sort of National Pride instilled into the hearts of the Mexican public transportation industry. Everywhere you go there is a loud, diesel propelled Camion to take you to any particular square inch of the country – no matter how remote or how bad the road may be – Mexican buses will get you there in style!
Find a Bus Terminal in Mexico
centrales camioneras = Bus Terminal

Wherever there is a road in Mexico, no matter the condition of the road, there is a bus that will travel that road. Mexican buses qualify as one of the great transportation wonders of the world.

Most cities and towns have at least one bus terminal and the larger cities will have several bus terminals. There are many different bus lines in Mexico. Which one you take depends on where you are going. See chart for major bus lines and destinations.

Patt Manna’s “Experience Strength and Hope”

I am a believer who struggled with co-dependency and alcohol. The first time I was exposed to the Twelve Steps, it was in Alcoholics Anonymous and they gave me sobriety from alcohol. I was on the 4th step working this program, when my sponsor sent me to Adult Children of Alcoholics (ACA), and Co-dependents Anonymous (Coda) to find myself and identify where the pain in my life was coming from. In other words, my sponsor recognized her limitations and I recognized her frustrations in working with me. The last thing my sponsor told me to do was to go to my chemically dependent meetings daily. So, I went to three or four or more meetings every day. I started with one AA meeting a day plus whatever other Twelve Step meeting was on the schedule. I am still grateful to this day for what I learned about myself in all Twelve Step arenas, because, no matter what the addiction was that was being addressed, the Twelve Step Programs all used the same basic process. My first lesson was that it was not my sponsor’s responsibility to fix me, but my responsibility to make my recovery happen despite my attitude. Then mercy walked into my life. Yes, God’s mercy (God’s ability to hold from me what I deserve) and grace (God’s ability to give me what I don’t deserve).

Those sharing there experience strength and hope in Coda meetings gave me a sense of choice about my recovery from the pain identified in co-dependency. I looked for the easier softer way and could not find it. I prayed for it, waited for it, searched for it, longed for it, and hoped for the key that would unlock this mystery of recovery in my life. I can’t count how many times I attended seminars, bought books, and went to counseling hoping to be transformed and relieved of this pain I carried. I came to know that the Twelve Steps are the core for transformation and the path to recovery. The old timers would say, “You can dance around these steps all you want and suit up and sit in meetings forever. But when you choose to change your life, you will begin to work these steps.” Every book, seminar and counseling session I had enhanced my recovery when I started working these steps.

At Twelve Step meetings, the group would read what was called the Promises. At the end of the promises we read the statement, “God will do for us, what we cannot do for ourselves.” How profound those words were. Later the revelation would kick in! I sat in my meetings for so long a time focusing on my problems of caretaking, shame, controlling, obsessing, victimization, and self loathing (for starters), instead of focusing on the solution. Putting down the alcohol giant and prescription drug giant was nothing compared to this giant called Co-dependency. These Steps changed me and transformed me in ways that I had to experience and not just intellectualize. I was told in meetings many times that in order to become a humble person, one must experience humility!

It is with the greatest respect for the Twelve Steps that I share this part of my journey where I found myself and my purpose in life. Working the steps meant making an effort to apply principles to my life and when I did, what a profound behavioral, emotional, and spiritual result occurred. A significant personality change had taken place in my very being! I no longer talked the same, walked the same, or went to the same places. One example was that after a few months of sobering up, a coworker came up to me and asked me if I was on drugs. Wow, I thought to myself. Have I changed that much?

Immediately, Step One gave me permission to stop controlling, deal with my fear, and take care of myself at work. BUT, I found myself trying to control others, namely my children and family, well into my recovery process. I had driven off a husband and relationships of any close friends, except my one childhood friend Carol. She listened to my whining and crying and is still my pal.

Although it may be subdued today, that sinful controlling nature can rear its head at any given moment. I had made myself feel crazy, and my life had become unmanageable with both overt and more subtle gestures to control many people. I was trying to control what they did, thought, felt, and how and when they changed. I had been so enmeshed with the life of my children and out of touch with myself. I was caught in a torrent of obsessive thinking,–not saying no, not saying what I meant, not being in touch with what I wanted and needed, not having boundaries, and not living my own life. These patterns are what created this giant of co-dependant unmanageability. When I look at the pattern of my life, I can identify this generational sickness.

I didn’t start drinking until I was 20 years old. Fear kept me from what I hated the most which was out of control people. When I was a child I used to put my shoes by the bed at night just in case I would have to run. I was always trying to run and hide. I would go out the door by the kitchen, grab a coat and run out to the garage. If I couldn’t get out unnoticed, I went and hid in the bedroom closet. I would crawl into the very back and hide under whatever I could stack on top of me.

There were many incidents that happened in regards to my parents’ toxic behavior that I reacted to, and this abuse took many forms: emotional and physical abandonment, neglect, verbal abuse, physical abuse, alcoholism, and more. One night that I remember in particular, I really believed my father was going to kill my mother. My father had come home from work drunk, like many times before. But that particular night my mother would not stop yelling. She always tried to control by yelling back which made him react and then the hell would start. My little brother who was six years younger happened to be at home with me that night. My older sister and brother were always gone staying at other people’s homes. The next thing I knew, my brother and I wanted to escape but we couldn’t get out of the house. So we went upstairs to the attic bedroom. I was sitting at the top of the stairs shaking uncontrollably. I was no longer aware of anything but my shaking. I must have had a white out! Then it was morning, and I came down the stairs. It was a natural reaction to just start cleaning up the mess of broken furniture and blood around in the kitchen and bathroom. To my amazement, I noticed that not a single window was broken. At least people driving by wouldn’t notice what happened again. The family secrets were still protected.

My father died at the age of 44 when I was 20 years old, and at that time the family was uncontrollable. So I bought a one way ticket to Cincinnati, Ohio, where my maternal grandparents lived. So, you could say I ran away from home when I was 21 years old. Later a psychologist told me healthy children run away at twelve. I had no intentions of going back home to Washington. So I got a job and lived with my aunt and uncle until my drinking had escalated and I was sinking in sin. But, I was still teaching Sunday school classes and drinking with the whole family on a regular basis!

Sin is what separated me from everything I longed for. By age 24, I was an unwed mother. Oh, what shame I brought upon this Irish Catholic Family. My feelings were that I didn’t need these people anyway. Now, with having my baby, I would have someone who really loved me. I sued my child’s father as a reputed father for $25.00 a week to cover child care so I could continue working and take care of myself. I didn’t need anyone.

My mother remarried and soon asked if my little brother could come and live with me. He had been getting in trouble and, according to my mother it was our cousin’s fault (not addictions). He came to live with me and I bought an old car for him to get to and from a vocational school. Soon the school called and wanted to know why he wasn’t coming. He was an out of control drug addict. Everyday was a nightmare. I found my self packing the baby’s diaper bag and putting my shoes and purse by the back door of my trailer – just in case I would have to run. The night came when that giant went on a rampage. The police were called and it took four of them to put my brother on a straight board and shackle him. He was bleeding from tearing up the house with his fists, so he was taken to the hospital. In the hospital he was left on the straight board shackled, yelling that he was going to kill me if I didn’t get him out of there. After seven hours he came down off of what ever he was on and we left the hospital as if nothing happened. He just walked out after they unshackled him.
After a few days I escorted him back to Washington State via airplane. I had not been home for six years. That very night after the family gathering, my brother came home from wherever he had been drugging and started fighting with my mother and she tried to control him just like she did my father. I was in the back bedroom with my baby shaking uncontrollably. I kept saying to myself, “I will be on a plane in two days and I am never coming back.” This was the same house, 13 years after the incident with my parents, only six years after my father’s death, and I was experiencing alcohol and drug addiction of the next generation.

By 26, I married a man I did not love. I had no real concept of love at that time. The only thing I was sure of at that time was that he would not hit me. I knew him since I was six years old. Our fathers worked together and drank together. My decisions were made with logic, or lust, or both. Now I had a drinking partner, and we had two more children. We drank drink for drink and it would behoove him to be sure I had all I needed.

When I reached the saturation level of alcohol it caused ugly depressions, and then I would go to the psychiatrist and switch to valium. The family much preferred me going to shrinks and on prescriptions. I never thought about whether I was actually getting better or worse, I just went back to the doctor and they changed the color of my valium. I just took it. I did not want to feel. My prescription drugs were still keeping me from dealing with me. That cycle went on for the eight years I was married to my now ex-husband.
Finally I stopped the valium and started losing weight and thinking more about my career. I was always thinking about my and I. When I went to the doctor, he was very surprised to see how healthy I looked, and he asked me if I was getting a divorce. All he did was plant a thought in my head. That thought said, “Why not?” I filed for a divorce and for the next 2 years my ex-husband and I fought for control of the children and possessions. We also had to go in front of a judge over the children’s visitation and financial support before the divorce was over. The judge said, “I can’t tell which one of you is lying,” and she asked if we wanted a guardian ad-litum. In total ignorance I said, “Yes”. Now I really had to protect the lies and the secrets about my drinking. Needless to say, the three story home with a water view, the Dalmatian dog in the window of the home, the van and matching car were all lost due to the fight for control. At the end of the divorce, after fighting for two straight years, the kids were left and nothing else survived.

Now the children were taking care of themselves. We went through an additional five years of custody battles after the divorce. My ex-husband married a woman who had practiced witchcraft in the past. The children were exposed to ouija boards, ghosts living in the house, and astrology readings when visiting. Even living the out of control and godless life that I was, I had to get the children out of my ex-husband’s house. So I put in for a promotion to Yuma, AZ. It took the judge and guardian ad-litem to get me out of Washington with my children. But I was still thinking only of I and my.

Through God’s mercy and grace, I sobered up eight months later in Yuma. But now I found my self putting my shoes and purse by the window just in case I had to run because of the fear of my children. All three children were using and drinking and questioning me saying, “Who do you think you are to tell us what to do?” My sponsor told me to leave those kids alone. I would face that giant soon enough. All three of my children had alcohol and drug addictions. This was the next generation. Runaway children were living in and on top of my house. One was sleeping on top of the adobe structured apartment using the amenities of my house.
The day I faced this next generation giant, I called on God in the spiritual realm, and the police in the natural. I announced to them in the presence of the police that if what they were doing was against the law it was not negotiable and I would turn them in to the law. This was now tough love. So it would be a good idea to tell their friends that I am not turning them in, I am only turning you, my children, into the law.

On that day, I identified where my pain was coming from. The wounded children I saw standing in my home overwhelmed me. I knew that I was now well equipped with the Twelve Steps to change myself and to give this gift of living to my children. As a survivor, I wanted so much to stop this legacy of abuse and abandonment. I had become so aware of how the abusive behaviors of my parents drove my life. And I was now so aware of how I had repeated that abusive behavior with my children. So I announced that we were going to go as a family to church or my Twelve Step Program. I left it up to them and, of course, they chose the Twelve Step Program. Church was never a part of their lives and they did not know that I had met Jesus in my Twelve Step Program. An old timer had given to me the book Sermon On The Mount by Emmett Fox. The co-founders of the Twelve Steps used the Bible, Sermon on the Mount, and a leaflet called the Upper Room before they divinely put together their program. I had studied the history of the Twelve Steps and found this out in my search for the truth. I now knew the truth about Jesus and my relationship with him. Amen.