05 February 2024

My Food Stamps Memories (some of them)

 My blog posts have always been very random. All over the place. Like, "what on Earth are you talking about, Lorenzo??" Yeah, I'm going to keep with that theme. 

I've got a note that says my next topic should be "being on food stamps and C02 emissions". Maybe, I'll just combine the two and make a post on both. I'll try to connect them in a way. 

Let's just start with being on food stamps. In fact, I think I'll save the randomness and write about the C02 emissions in a later blog post. Or, better still, I'll record a Curious Lorenzo podcast episode on it. 

Okay, so here we go. Being on food stamps. It's something I don't love to talk about, but part of my life still. I'll start with my earliest memory of food stamps. I remember going to the grocery store with my family and a parent, maybe my mom, using food stamps to pay for the food. I can't confirm this, but it was more than likely at the grocery store that is now Natural Grocers on the corner of Cordova and St. Francis in Santa Fe. (I'm not sure why location in my memories are so important, but they are.)

I remember the cashier checking us out, and my mom (or maybe another family member, the memory is not perfect) pulling out a booklet of papers, and the family member handing that paper to the cashier. 

We left with our groceries and I didn't think twice about the interaction. Just observed it. 

That's my first experience with food stamps. 

I guess I can talk a bit about what food was like at my house as a kid before I talk about my next experience with food stamps. 

Food was always available. I don't remember being hungry or without food. As a kid, I remember a few food items that stand out. We had bacon. Cereal. I remember digging through the box to find the toy in the box. I remember milk. 

I remember my mom making beans in the pressure cooker. That thing was scary, spewing steam and hissing at me. I wasn't sure if the pressure cooker would explode hot beans all over the room. 

I remember my mom's fresh tortillas. Making tortillas was quite the event. My mom had to prep the kitchen, and she'd wrap a towel around her head. I imagine to keep her hair out of her face and out of the masa. She'd then mix all the ingredients and get her wooden rolling pin and roll the tortillas out. Getting the rolled tortillas was half the work. Then she'd heat up her flat tortilla skillet and then get each tortilla cooked, flipping them with her bare fingers. I thought that was incredible. It seemed that the skillet would be way too hot for her to flip them with her bare fingers, but she did it. 

So yeah, those were the food items I remember as a very young kid. Going to my Grandpa's house, who lived next door to me (in our very strangely arranged Santa Fe neighborhood), he would cook red chile with some kind of meat, and he'd dip a piece of the cheapest white bread into the chile and eat that for a snack or a meal. He would give me some of the chile, or let me get my own piece of white bread to dip with. I remember loving this. 

I remember my grandpa had liver in his small fridge. I never tried that. 

Later on in my childhood, we had less beans and tortillas, and more ramen noodles, pot pies, and macaroni and cheese. I remember living off of these staples. I don't remember having much vegetables or fruit in my house. Or, if we did, I didn't eat them. I ate a lot of ramen. Like most days, I'd have ramen. 

Our family didn't have dinner together. We'd eat when we ate. Most of my meals in the school year came form school. I had reduced lunch. This means that my lunch and breakfast costs were less than the regular cost. If I remember correctly, my lunch was about 35¢, breakfast was probably about the same. I think we just bought a monthly lunch pass and I would hand my card to the lunch lady, and she'd punch my card, and I'd grab my lunch. 

Breakfast's where whatever the school provided. I think the most delicious breakfast they had was the "pancake on a stick". It was just like a corndog, except the breading on the outside was pancake batter, and instead of a hotdog in the middle, it was breakfast sausage. They'd give you a cup of syrup to dip your breakfast in and of course serve it with a half pint of milk. 

Lunches were square pizza, cheeseburgers, taco salad ... the others I don't remember. 

But, I'm talking about food stamps, right? I'll get back to that. I guess I just wanted to talk about what my relationship was like with food when I was a kid. 

I think the thing that I don't like the most about my childhood and my relationship with food as a kid was the social piece. Humans share meals together. We love going to restaurants. We love to talk together and discuss the day over a meal. I didn't do that. I remember maybe having dinner at a table with my family once in my entire childhood. (Other than in restaurants.)

The other was what food did to my body. I hated my body as a kid. And I loved the salty hot taste of ramen noodles. 

I remember once I had prepared myself some ramen noodles and someone came over--unexpected company. I remember hiding my food. I didn't want them to know I was eating. Or maybe I was embarrassed. I don't know why I did that. It's not like I wouldn't share. I'd share my noodles with them. I just felt very insecure about eating around them. And this behavior stuck around and is still there in a way as an adult. I will not eat around other people unless they are also eating--even if they say it's okay if I eat while they're there or if I know they've already had a meal. 



Okay, now I can move on to food stamps again. My next experience with food stamps was as an adult and I was the recipient of the food stamps.

As an adult, there was a time where I could not afford to pay all of my bills and I could not afford food. My next step was to seek government assistance. I remember going to the Human Services Department building off of Menaul and I-25 in Albuquerque. I had to apply in person. Or maybe I had to meet with a case manager in person to discuss my application. One of my tasks, though, was to come back to the HSD building to attend a career training workshop on a Saturday. The purpose of this workshop was to teach me how to complete a job application, and I had to check in with my case manager to show them I was looking for work. This was incredibly humiliating. Especially because I was already employed, and I was a recent graduate of UNM with a degree in economics. 

I remember being worried that I would know one of the employees that were handling my case. What if I was a client of a person I knew. My heart sank. I felt pretty worthless. 

I jumped through the hoops, though, and I got my food stamps card. (Technology moved along from my experience as a kid.) The card was similar to an ATM card, and I picked a PIN and could use it to buy my groceries. There were some rules I had to know about, though. I could not buy any prepared food, no rotisserie chicken from the deli. And no booze, of course. Fine. At least I could bring food home. 

I had to keep track of my balance, though. I was allotted a certain dollar amount for the month, and if I bought groceries that exceeded my balance, the entire transaction would be declined. I had to then either separate the order into two transactions, or ask the cashier to put back the items I couldn't afford. 

And this was embarrassing. I tried my hardest to be exact with my amounts so I didn't have to go through the embarrassing part of asking cashiers to take items off. 

Things got especially difficult if you involved WIC benefits. WIC is a benefit that will cover essential food items: milk, cheese, yogurt, cereal, beans. But, WIC will only cover certain food items, and you had to get really good at knowing which items it would cover. I got really good at this. 

But, what this meant, is that there were some transactions that had three cards swiped--your WIC card, food stamps card, and then your debit card if there were any non-food or prepared food in your list of purchases. 

As this is all happening, there are a few things that are going through my mind; 

    1. I hate my life. This sucks. 

    2. It really sucks that I have to put the cashier thought all this extra work.

    3. I hope they people behind me aren't getting upset that this is taking so long. I hope they don't see the         card I'm using. 

    4. I hope the cashier doesn't announce my food stamps balance to everyone in earshot. I would die of             embarrassment if she does.


But, yeah. I'm not there anymore, thankfully. I do not qualify for food stamps. My kids eat every meal they need. We make sure to have dinner together, as a family. We talk about the day. And I try my hardest to ensure that every meal has a protein and vegetable in it. 

04 January 2024

Okay, here we go… My uncle climbed a tower in santa fe



Okay, here we go… My uncle climbed a tower in santa fe. 



I grew up with lots of cousins. A few were older, most of them were younger than me. 


My childhood was spent in Santa Fe. A weird place to grow up, looking back. Of my …many cousins, I was the fifth oldest. Two of my older cousins live in Santa Fe, the other lived in California (I think), and the other older cousin lived in Tennessee. 


Wait… did the one that lived in California live in Santa Fe? Typing this, I think she did. At least for a little while. Maybe she went back and forth from Santa Fe to California. 


I remember asking her about the freeways in California. California cities and population density of California urban areas kind of blew my mind. Her stories of twelve lane highways filled me with wonder. 


But, yeah. Lots of cousins everywhere. Most of my time was spend with the second oldest, but occasionally I’d go with other aunts. Never uncles. Uncles were kind of absent. 


Except for this one time when my uncle took me ice fishing. I don’t know how old I was, but I was very young. If we were in New Mexico, chances are we went to Eagle Nest Lake (https://wwwapps.emnrd.nm.gov/SPD/ParksReportingPublicDisplay/WebDisplay/Detail/37). As far as I know, that’s the only lake in the state that gets cold enough to ice fish. 


My uncle’s approach to getting to the fish was very unconventional. Even I knew this as a very young kid. I think there’s probably protocol to getting under the ice, and it’s not finding the best boulder from the shore and proceeding to bash it into the ice. Right? That sounds dangerous. 


I’m not sure why my parents let me spend time with my uncle… or some of my aunts for that matter. 


I ended up survinvg the ice fishing incident. But, then there was more fun to be had with uncles and aunts. 


I remember going to one aunt’s house and spending the night. Sleepovers were a big deal in the 90s. I don’t remember having a good time, however. My cousins were allowed to do pretty much whatever they wanted, and that did not involve cleaning their apartment. The environment was very chaotic to my child brain. I remember feeling uncomfortable being there. Even now, it gives me unpleasant feelings. 


I was quiet. I didn’t speak up for myself. Something I’ve kept with me to this day. I think I’ve gotten better, but as a kid I would rather stay silent and suffer than speak up to express what I needed. Don’t know why. There’s probably some explanation that points to trauma or whatever. But it was how it was. 


One of the most uncomfortable memories I had was when I spent the night at their apartment and the kids decided they wanted to watch a Freddy Krueger Movie. His face is etched into my brain. I did not want to watch the movie. I didn’t want to be in the room and hear the movie. I didn’t want to be in that house. I just wanted to go home.  But, I was stuck. 


Stuff like that. 


Aunts and uncles suck. At least mine did. 


One time, an uncle of mine got into a craze and decided he wanted to climb a radio tower off of Agua Fria Rd. You know? Those tall towers that have bright blinking red lights on them at night? Those ones. This particular uncle was determined, or convinced, that he was a wrestler. Not the olympic variant. The ones on WWE (then it was WWF). But, he wasn’t athletic. He just liked to scream “I’m awesome!”. I think he was probably just drunk or high or both. 


But, yeah. He made me feel uneasy. And he climbed the tower. At least he said he was gong to. I don’t know if he did or not. He probably didn't. I bet he just passed out. 


I didn't like going to their apartment. In fact, I hated it. 


Santa Fe gave me a variety of memories. Many of them I’m fond of. Those memories suck. 


We were locals. Been in Santa Fe for generations. Our family wasn’t typical. Education wasn’t encouraged. Success wasn’t even mentioned. My uncles and aunts lived to party. They did stupid shit when the kids were around. Said stupid shit when the kids were around. They were horrible examples. 


When a different uncle of mine would sneeze he would also sneeze the Spanish word “Puta” at the same time. 


The word is not a good one. 


Google’s definition: 


pu·ta

noun
DEROGATORYINFORMAL
  1. (in Spanish-speaking regions) a prostitute.
    • a woman who has many casual sexual encountersor relationships.

I didn’t like that guy. Still don’t. He stole from my Grandpa, and my parents. 


So, now that I’m living in this space… I wonder how this has shaped me as a person. Maybe it isn’t all bad. I know that I find it easy to set boundaries now. I don’t want anything to do with that sort of dysfunction I was exposed to as a kid. I have no problem skipping family get-togethers. I have no problem saying “no” to have my kids hang out with the family crowd. And I know that I have control of where my kids are. I can stick up for them and advocate for them, remembering that I didn’t have anyone to advocate for me when I was a kid. 



Not sure why, my mind goes to this image, (generated by Bing AI) when I think of my uncle climbing that tower.


 



12 December 2023

Shakespeare Tells the Story of Microsoft's Origin

 I had this idea. I want to use generative AI (ChatGPT) to tell the story of Microsoft in Albuquerque but in the style of William Shakespeare. 

My wife and I were talking about his work. Sadly, I'm not as familiar with his work than she is, but what I have experienced, I can appreciate. 

I think the old language is fascinating. I watched a part of a PBS documentary and some folks who study language were interview and said that the speech sounded like what a character pirate accent would sound like. 

When I think of Shakespeare, I also think about what it would have been like in that time. 16th and 17th century England. I'm more so transported to imagining what the theaters and people watching the plays were like than the plays themself. But, that's probably because I haven't read much of them. 

Maybe I'll try to change that for me. 


Anyway, here's the generative AI story of the origin of Microsoft in Albuquerque in the style of William Shakespeare. 



Act I: The Exodus from Albuquerque


Upon January's dawn, in Seventy-Nine of the year of our Lord,

Bill Gates and Paul Allen, bound by a technological cord,

Forsake Albuquerque's desert domain,

To Bellevue, they journeyed, Seattle's reign.


Four years prior, in the bosom of New Mexico's sun,

A fledgling software company had begun,

In the Old Bank Building, Bellevue's heart,

Microsoft's genesis, a prelude to its art.


Act II: The Altair's Call


Ere the move to the Pacific Northwest,

Microsoft's roots were in Altair's quest,

A computer, small and revolutionary,

Altair 8800, a beacon in the vast prairie.


A rectangle of gray metal, devoid of grace,

Yet in its core, potential to embrace.

A language it lacked, a call for aid,

Gates and Allen, their destiny laid.


In Cambridge, amidst ivy-clad halls,

Gates and Allen answered Altair's calls.

BASIC, the language, their pledge they made,

A journey begun, a pact unswayed.


Eight weeks' labor, night and day,

Allen to Albuquerque, the code's display.

"Print 2 + 2," the program's dance,

A symphony of bytes, a serendipitous chance.


Act III: The Albuquerque Sojourn


In Albuquerque's embrace, Allen took root,

Vice-president of software, in a quest to commute.

Gates, Harvard's scholar, joined the endeavor,

A partnership forged, bound forever.


Microsoft, or Micro-Soft, in its infancy,

Gates and Allen, architects of this symphony.

Ownership divided, a pact decreed,

Gates, 60 percent, Allen, 40 indeed.


In Sundowner's abode and cafe's delight,

The duo toiled, day and night.

A Porsche for Gates, a chariot of speed,

In the Albuquerque night, his thoughts to feed.


A Porsche's roar, a dance with the sand,

Gates' mugshot etched in the law's stern hand.

In these desert nights, dreams did conspire,

Microsoft's legend, kindled in fire.


Act IV: The Pact Unraveled


MITS, the ally, turned adversarial gaze,

Exclusive rights, Altair's code to praise.

Dispute arose, a legal fray,

In '77, the partnership gave way.


Arbitration's judgment, Microsoft's decree,

BASIC unleashed, the code set free.

The exit from Albuquerque, a path paved,

Microsoft's destiny, in Seattle's shade.


Act V: The Ascent in Bellevue


To Seattle's bosom, Microsoft flew,

Bellevue's Old Bank Building, their office anew.

Gates, the orchestrator, Ballmer joined the dance,

In Bellevue's embrace, a fledgling's chance.


The Northrup Way, a humble abode,

Microsoft's presence in Bellevue bestowed.

Ballmer, the mailman, in a change of scene,

Delivered mail, a transition serene.


In the Old Bank's shadow, Microsoft grew,

From the eighth floor to Northrup, the journey true.

The Standard in microcomputers, the pledge,

In Bellevue's precincts, a company on edge.


Epilogue: Legacy Unfolds


The Albuquerque chapter, a distant tale,

Microsoft's growth, an unyielding gale.

From Altair's inception to Bellevue's rise,

A saga scripted in technological skies.


In Time's embrace, Gates' face aglow,

A fortune sizzling, a Seattle show.

Albuquerque's past, a mere memory,

In Redmond's haven, Microsoft's legacy.


Images generated by Bing AI of the original crew walking around ABQ but in the style of 16th century English art. 





Source: Rousso, Nick. “Microsoft moves from New Mexico to Bellevue on January 1, 1979.” HistoryLink.org, History Ink, 30 Dec. 2020, [https://www.historylink.org/File/21161].


12 October 2023

Connected

I don't know what triggered this memory...

Oh, I remember now. I was walking down the stairs in my office building and noticed some holes drilled in the cinderblock where network wires were threaded through. It looks like an afterthought, probably because it was. I imagine the building I'm in was built before the wide usage of the internet.

...just got lost in looking at satellite Timelapse images on google earth... 

It was. Looks to be built in the mid 80s or so. 

So, back to my memory. I was a senior in high school and I was outside of Mr. Ruben's class. (He was the "cool" teacher.) He taught civics and a few history classes--upperclassmen. He had a computer in his classroom, and it was connected to the internet. 

This sounds very boring to people today. Like, so what? But for my generation, this was a big deal. My generation is very unique, we were in high school at the end of one era, and graduated at the beginning of another. 

My freshman year I took typing. We didn't learn to type on a computer, we learned on typewriters. (Are there even typing classes in school anymore?) I think I read a tweet or a thread a while back, too, reminding people from my generation that you don't have to place two spaces after a period anymore. I think there were a few other rules we learned in typing class. 

So yeah, internet connected to a computer in a classroom was a big deal. Mr. Ruben would let us browse the internet if we got out work done. Of course, there were no website controls, or if there were, they were very primitive. I know this because if there were content controls on our network, stickdeath.com was not on the list of blocked sites. It should have been. Very violent ways for stick figures to die using flash animation was the theme of this website. And we'd watch those videos and either Mr. Ruben didn't notice, or he wanted to keep the status of "cool" teacher. 

Back to my memory, though. Seeing the holes drilled into the cinderblock reminded me of crews wiring network cables through my school in my junior year. At the time, I had no idea how significant this event was. Before the cables existed, my school had no internet connection. Now, it does. 

I was just appreciating the gravity of that event. 






19 September 2023

Encyclopedias

 Encyclopedias. People of my generation and before may remember these. A collection of books with information complied on certain topics. Encyclopedia Britanica was the best, apparently. The other two publishers I knew of were Funk & Wagnalls and World Book. 

World Book, as I remember it, was most commonly found in the library of your school. This was the book you reached for if you wanted to start a research project--you wanted to know about a president, a continent, a country, an animal--you name it, the World Book probably had a quick bite of information about the topic you wanted to learn more about. 

Britanica seemed to be a bit more acadmic than the World Book, and sometimes I'd see it in the school library, but I would gravitate to the World Book. The information was more accessable for me. The font, as I remember it, was more Times New Roman-y, smaller font, the pages seemed to be of higher quality, the binding was a nicer quality. 

Doesn't matter, I guess. I didn't go to the Britanica. My go-to were the World Book at school and Funk & Wagnalls when I was at my Grandpa's house. My grandpa had two sets of Funk & Wagnalls. Maybe he had World Book too. I don't remember. 

My Grandpa didn't have a computer, or a TV most of my childhood, he didn't even have a phone, but he had plenty to do at his house. He had this brown 70's style carpet in his living room, a record player on a stand (also very 70s), and booksheves full of encyclopedia volumes and atlases. 



This was my favorite thing to do as a child. I would lay on his 70s style brown carpet and pick a letter from his encyclopedias and just learn. I would start with some nugget of curiosity my grandpa would give me, and then go from there. 

One time, he told me that Mexico City was the biggest city in the world. I had to know more. I don't remember the events exactly, but I'm sure I want to the "M" volume and began to read up on the city. This is where my facination with populations of cities began. To read that Mexico City had millions of inhabitants blew my mind. Then I looked at the photos and the maps included. I'm sure my next action was to then look at a city map. 

I could spend hours just looking at the map, imagining what it was like to live in the same place with millions of other people. And that's what I did. 

Today, that curiosity is still there. It's muffled a bit by my responsibilities. I have to work. I bring my curiosity to work, but I can't sit at my desk and imagine cities while browsing Wikipedia. (or can i?). Wikipedia is great, though. 

I did have an interesting memory come to me. There used to be a Furr's grocery store in downtown Santa Fe. My grandpa would take me there occasionally, and an endcap of one of the ailes had a display of the newest Funk & Waggnalls encyclopedias. My grandpa would take me there and we would by each book individually. The books would be in his collection, but of course I could read through them any time I wanted. 

08 September 2023

I Don't Know Spanish

 I don't know Spanish. 

I think I should. I grew up around a little bit of Spanish. My grandpa (who lived next door), and my tio, who also lived next door, and my other neighbor, Tony, and my grandpa's cousin, who also lived next door--all spoke Spanish. 

I guess I should explain what "next door" is in Santa Fe. We all kind of lived "next door". I grew up in an old part of Santa Fe. I mean, I suppose all of Santa Fe is an old part. 

*Rabbit Hole* now I want to know when the houses I lived in were built. I won't do that now. 

Okay, so I grew up close to the intersection of Guadalupe and Agua Fria. There's no rhyme or reason to the neighborhood design. Houses just went up where they went up. 

I mean, check out this image from Google Earth. Not sure if it illustrates my point very well, but it's a cool image either way. What I'm trying to say is that this area more than likely predated cars. I really don't know, but I could look at a historical map. 




Okay, had to look it up. Here's a website I found in a quick google search. 


Sweet images. Looks like cars were in New Mexico around 1905.


This rabbit hole I did go in. Maps. 

Officially my favorite map. 


So, yeah. My neighborhood predated cars. 

What was I talking about? Oh yeah. Spanish. I remember talking a bit of Spanish to my Tio and to Tony. It consisted of only, a "Hi, Tony. Como estas?" and he'd respond with "Muy bien, usted?". Same with Tio. 

And my grandpa didn't speak Spanish to me, but he would sing Spanish. He was a musician, and he loved mariachi music. I would watch him practice on his vihuela and he would sing. He would also play his harp (that he made) and sing songs. I'd watch him play and sing in Spanish. Some of my favorite memories. 

And now that I'm getting older, I'm coming to appreciate where I came from more. I'm sad that my generation lost the language, but I'm hoping to bring it back a bit. I'm doing some Duolingo lessons, and I'm learning a bit. Maybe I can encourage my kids to learn Spanish, too.




07 September 2023

I Forgot My First Grade Teacher's Name

 Today I'm forcing myself to write. 

I had some time to think about a memory I wanted to talk about. 

Sometimes, it's easy for me to get caught up in whatever is going on in my life at the time. These days my mind is racing. Racing all the time, and not really on anything important. Maybe this is what they call "overthinking"? 

Either way, even now. I'm trying to relax my brain so I can retell this story.

...

...

...

First grade. I don't remember much from first grade. I went to Alvord Elementary in Santa Fe, New Mexico. The school's closed now. But I have some memories of the school. Apparently very few from first grade. 

Here's a memory from first grade that stands out. I remember our first grade teacher giving us an assignment to bring our teeth that we lost to school. I remember we placed all of our lost teeth in small, clear plastic cups, and we filled these small cups with Coke and watched the teeth decay over the next couple of days. 

How did this work? Or is my memory twisted? I don't think everyone in the class lost their teeth at the same time. And what about the tooth fairy? Was this a sacrifice our teacher had us do in the name of science and dental hygiene knowledge? So many questions...

This stands out to me, though. This memory never left me. And from then forward, I knew that soda's had a negative impact on my teeth. I guess it's worked, too. I've never had a cavity in my life. 

I think the next lesson was how to brush your teeth. I remember the graphic that was shared on patters to use to brush your teeth. There were little kids doing cartwheels and this directed us to brush our teeth in a circular pattern. 

The other memory I have of first grade was of me presenting something to the class that I thought was interesting. I talked about the Tyrannosaurus Rex's mouth. I found out somewhere that the T-Rex could open its mouth up to three feet. At the time, I was three feet tall. So I made this connection and it blew my little first grade mind. So, this is what I shared. 

This is all I remember about first grade. I don't even remember my first grade teacher's name.

Now that I think about it, I don't remember my fourth grade teacher's name either. 

I remember what my fourth grade teacher looked like, but my first grade teacher--she's just gone from my memory. I don't remember what she looked like. 

Okay... I just remembered the name of my fourth grade teacher. Her name was Ms. Booth. She was from Missouri, or somewhere in the midwest. First grade is still gone. 


Here's a cool image I found from another blog of the angle a T-Rex was capable of opening its mouth.   http://palaeoblog.blogspot.com/2015/11/how-wide-could-t-rex-open-its-mouth.html

Have you ever seen those videos of seagulls eating large mammals, or a pelican eating a pigeon? I picture the T-Rex swallowing whole prey that seems like it should be too large to eat.