My first day of school...in 13 years

Two weeks ago I went to the Veteran's Office and was told that I could still use the Montgomery GI Bill. And that it would pay roughly $1300 a month for 36 months of my school. And that if I was going to school, I could use the work study program and work at the VA office for minimum wage. Part of the requirement of doing the work study program was that by law they would have to let me study on the job.
Needless to say, this seemed pretty win-win to me.
So, I called the Admissions office of Feather River Community College here in town. And got voicemail. And got voicemail. And got voicemail.
Not being 19 or transferring from somewhere else, I have no idea how this registering for College (capital C) stuff works. I have no idea which classes I am supposed to be taking for whatever it is I want to be when I grow up.
This left me registering for Sociology, History, Anthropology, Theatre, Film Appreciation, and Asian Martial Arts Weapons classes on the very last day before school started. For the life of me, I could not would not Sam I am, get any math or english classes. I do not like green eggs and ham. I could also not find out how the hell to properly apply for the GI Bill. Whatever, it will all work out.
Yesterday, I attend Sociology at the wonderful hour of 8 in the morning. I leave what is supposed to be an hour long class at 8:05. I like Sociology. I like any class where the teacher gets up and says, "This is an easy class. We don't even use textbooks." Score one for the pocketbook.
Following Sociology, is History 108 at 9. This was a little more advanced. I had a brief moment of panic when he said that you should be taking English 10 (also known as Dumbed down English). Wait, I cry, I have no english classes. ARGH! And then I thought, but wait, I work at the stinking newspaper for crying out loud. I know how those grammer thingies like work and junk. I no need dumb engrish. I gots the Internets!
Then at 5 in the evening I go to drama. I am 30. Everyone else is oh, so young. At the last minute, two older gentlemen enter, making me feel much more comfortable about signing up for Theatre. But, it still was rather hard to hear that almost everyone else's favorite movies are: Boyz in da Hood (they are from Alabama), Dumb and Dumber, Wayne's World, and Zoolander. It was very weird saying Harold and Maude is my favorite movie. No one except the teacher knew what it was. And how do you fight with people saying that guy from Twilight is their favorite actor when yours is Paul Newman? Come on, kiddos, no one can eat 50 eggs!
Today, I have film appreciation at 6 p.m. I think I might have to drop this class. I cannot physically watch Full Metal Jacket one more time. Seriously, this is required Marine Corps film appreciation. It and Apocalypse Now. Oh, and that completely horrid Tom Beringer movie, Sniper. Jeff makes me watch that from time to time. Besides, I need a damn math class. Economics, even, something, anything, just give me some numbers.
So my schedule is as follows: Mondays and Wednesdays, I have Sociology, History, and Theatre. Tuesdays for now, I have Film Appreciation. Thursdays, I take my Weapons class in the evening. And I do Anthropology online.
I think my plate is a little full, but darn it, I am excited.

Blackberries and Peaches

This is what my freezer looks like. Those are my forty plus peaches that came in a box for $12.
This is my mom's blackberry jam.

This is a partially full blackberry bucket. It ended up being 3/4 full. It's a five gallon bucket.

This is me and James pimping our blackberries.

I really love summer fruits.

Two Months

Today I braved the bureaucratic red tape and carted an enormous mound of paper to the Welfare Services office to apply for CalWorks, Medi-cal, and that dogrel food stamps.
I really hate being poor.
Because surprise, surprise, we do not qualify for cash aid or food stamps, but if the heavens align on the seventh Monday of the quarter slice moon, we might get Medi-cal. Provided we are standing in the proper toadstool arrangement.
No, we are not homeless. No, we are not quite destitute. But we are getting a bit desperate.
And funnily enough, I have been in this situation already.
I really hated it then too.
When it was just Abra and I and the gloriousness of the Marine Corps and their non-direct deposit, I found myself with my hat in my hand. And was denied then too, despite being paid below the federal poverty level to kill myself in some foreign country. Despite losing thirty pounds to non-eating so that she could. Despite praying that the five dollars I could afford for gas every two weeks would carry me to work so that I didn't get court-martialed. Rejection is a bitch.
So here I am in the exact position that I was before I got married or had three more children or moved to Wyoming or Hawaii or back again. That position that is middle class poor. I am officially too rich to have help and too poor to do it on my own. Especially when the job service here in town busts out the phone book to help Jeff find a job. Because, you know, we are retarded and never thought of that. Because we have never worked a computer, either.
Albert Einstein said, "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result." But I didn't do this. All I wanted was more time with my dying father. Not sure why that seems to be such a curse.
True, Jeff has never, in all the eight years that we have been married, spent this much time with our kids. I cannot exchange that nor would I. Most times I was worried that he would kill himself working. Like standing out in the 20 below snow in Wyoming with pnuemonia for a week. Or working seven days a week for two months. Or staying to work in Hawaii for a month while the kids and I were here. Why should anyone HAVE to do those things?
But apparently, we have to. Apparently, our work is not hard enough. Apparently, I learned nothing from my first go round with poverty so let's do it all over again. Can't wait to find out whether government cheese still makes the best grilled cheese sandwiches despite not being anything remotely resembling cheese. All I need is an iron and a paper bag. Then I really will be back again.
Alright, Tyler Durden, I am not my khakis. All I have is a refridgerator full of condiments because I could not afford the food or the ying-yang coffee table. Tell me, Tyler, what is the first rule of Fight Club? Maybe I should start my home business selling rich white women their own fat asses back.
If you've just tuned in, friends and neighbors, you met me at a vary interesting time in my life.

Yard work? Or Gardening?

There is a green thumb somewhere under that dirt.
Jeff's planter box made from free pallets. We like free.

Compost pile that I am awesomely proud of. So awesome, in fact, that my shadow is in it.

Peas and Carrots.

Herbage, but not the cilantro that bolted as it is extremely hot here.

There are also bush beans and beets and a vertiable plethora of flowers, a small bunch of lettuce that is lacking in photogenic qualities, but will probably taste delicious, one small rose bush, and the lawn that was particularly sparse until we added some grass seed. Say, this gardening thing is pretty kewl. I think I'll keep it.

On days like these...

Everything's Eventual.

Day Two

Abra is way in the back, but you can't see Jeff next to her.

And Owen is in my lap.

Discovery Kingdom aka Marine World

We decided that despite having no jobs and less money, we would try for quality of life instead and took the kids to Marine World. At least that was what it was called when I was a kid, but then the Six Flags conglomerate bought it out and renamed it Discovery Kingdom. Yet in the way that Kamuela was always called Waimea despite the US Postal Service nomenclature, nobody knows what you are talking about if you say Discovery Kingdom.

The kids had a blast. We had a blast. Just plain ridiculous amounts of fun.

And we will go home poorer, but much richer.