My Absolutely Unscientific Research: 500+

In the Polish election last autumn the winning party, PiS, took control, some say thanks to its election promise of the 500+ program. The 500 Plus program works like this: a benefit of 500 PLN is paid to families for the second child plus any additional children after that. We are not talking only about new births, but also existing children. So if you have 3 children, you should receive 1000 PLN monthly (0 for the first child + 500 for the second child + 500 for the third child = 1000 PLN). If the family income falls under a certain amount, that family gets the benefit for all the children. Receiving the 500+ does not affect other benefits a family might receive from other institutions. In comparison, the minimum wage is/was 1850 PLN gross and is due to rise to 2000 PLN gross as of January 2017. That is the monthly payment for 40 hours per week.



Some call it a social program. Some call it a handout. Some call it a lifesaver while others call it vote buying. No matter our feelings about it socially or morally, we must remember its effect economically. The government is not paying people from its own money. The government’s money is our money. And according to the latest proposal of the government, my family’s taxes are due to go up next year about the amount of 2x 500+. Somebody has to pay for it, right? Perhaps they could take it from the Smolensk commission budget.

I don’t believe there are any comprehensive studies at the moment on the effect of the 500+ so I have done some independent and completely unscientific research…in my village. A couple of years ago, I talked to a neighbor lady, they call her Fat Kasia which I find unnecessarily cruel as she is the only adult Kasia in the whole village. Anyhow, we were chatting at the village shop as you do when you are in the village. From the contents of her shopping of flour, potatoes, white cheese, and cigarettes, I gathered that Kasia was planning to make a batch of pierogi for the weekend. She lamented greatly at the cost of everything on their one salary and how unfair it was that the furniture factory didn’t pay her husband his salary on time. I agreed that not getting paid on time certainly wasn’t fair indeed, but I also inquired as to her interest in getting a job, you know, to take the pressure off. There were plenty of job offers at the new sawmill just 2 kilometers away. Kasia could not hide her shock and dismay at my inquiry. “I have a child!” she exclaimed. “I have two!” I exclaimed back. Nobody was judging. Nobody was offended. It was just a difference in our vision of our own lives. Over the next couple of weeks and over a few more conversations, Kasia decided to try to get a job at the sawmill. Her child was 8 years old then, and they lived meters from the school doors. And guess what. She got that job. That first Christmas Kasia had as an employed person was as she put it herself, “the best they’d ever had”. She was pleased to have the job, the possibility of paid overtime on Saturdays if she wanted, and a pleasant holiday season without the usual financial stress from years past.

Then Kasia got pregnant with their very much wanted second child. I met her a few times in front of the shop, her pregnant belly standing in stark contrast to the cigarette she had in her hand. My look must have spoken volumes because she later said to my husband, “What? I quit drinking at least.” Kasia had her baby about a year ago. I still meet her in front of the shop, baby in one hand, baby bottle of Kubus and cigarette in the other hand. Kasia is not going back to work. She’s decided that it doesn’t pay. Even though she would not lose her 500+ benefit. Even though the sawmill offered her a part-time job to start back. Even though her mother offered to babysit those 4-5 hours a day while she’s at work and cook dinner for the family. Even though she’d get a bit more than 1000 PLN a month from her employer, another 500 from the 500+ program, and secure her job position if she decided to return to full-time. It’s just not worth it to her. I’ve read a recent report that says there is absolutely no evidence that people are dropping out of the workforce due to the 500+ benefit. I find that hard to believe as most of us know at least one person and in my case several people who have done just that.

It is no surprise that money we get for nothing has a higher value than money we get for doing something, for example working - especially for someone earning minimum wage, having small children, and needing to travel to and from work each day. Transportation, good winter attire, childcare – it can cost you a significant part of your salary just to earn that salary. That wasn’t the case for Kasia, but yet she still decided not to go back to work. I returned to work relatively quickly after having each child. I was in fear of losing my contracts. There was a time when I did not even earn my ZUS payment (Social Security), not to mention my transportation costs or the babysitter, but I had to do it in hopes of a better future.

Continuing my unscientific research, I have been chatting with the local shop owner. Our village has a population of about 500 people. We have a primary school, a public library, a doctor’s office, a fire station, a chapel, and one shop. Our shop has got the basics, and as you can imagine, the shop is more expensive than the discount shops in the next town over. I don’t really think twice about the cost when I’ve got a kid on the toilet, and I’m running to Mr. Mariusz to buy toilet paper. (It happens more often than I’d like to admit.) The next town is only 7 kilometers away, but without a car, that’s too far for some locals to do their shopping. I inquired if Mr. Mariusz had noticed any changes in local shopping behavior since the 500+ payments started a few months ago. He has noticed some changes. He said some people came in and settled their credits (the infamous zeszyt) immediately, knowing that Mr. Mariusz knows that they got their money. Some people stocked up on the basics, perhaps enjoying the feeling of a fully-stocked kitchen cupboard for the first time in a long time. One lady has done a reverse-zeszyt by giving Mr. Mariusz all the 500 and deducting her shopping from there each time. She allows her husband 100 of the money on the zeszyt for his beer and cigarettes, and not a grosz more. It appears that women are in charge of budgeting that money. Mr. Mariusz has also reported that sales of beer and cigarettes has gone up significantly. He stopped selling hard alcohol some years ago as some of his customers were quickly drinking themselves in unconsciousness outside the shop doors.

What have I noticed? At the start, new trampolines and bikes appeared in our village. Cartons of cigarettes replaced packs or cigarettes. In some cases, packs of cigarette have replaced homemade cigarettes. This year there were not scenes in the front of the shop about a father drinking all the public benefit the kids got for school shoes. I’m not saying that money was not drunk, but there was an additional source of income to buy shoes from. We’ll find out this winter if we have similar scenes of selling the public benefit coal for cash and then stealing wood from other neighbors as it was last year.

Talking to my neighbors and friends in the village, many of them say they voted solely for that 500+ program. They have the knowledge that it most certainly is detrimental to the economy and they don’t care. One family has got one little kid at home and two teens in the orphanage. Since the 500+, they have been trying to get their kids back from the orphanage. They didn’t lose them because they were poor, but because their behavior prevented the kids from going to school. The kids don’t want to come back, not even so the parents can get the 500+ benefit for them. At the orphanage they have clothes, food, school books, a computer room, and basic cell phones. Smart kids.

What about people like me? The ministers were happily talking about people like me who could now afford extra music or language lessons for their children, invest in their kids education. I even saw a car today with a bumper sticker that said “Financed by 500+”. I am now aware that in the new year I will most likely be in the minus and not the plus with this plan. No cóż. Co robić?

The Angriest I Have Ever Been At My Mother

That's the card I received for American Mother's Day. Please notice that the card is in English. Oh, and that's me in the pink and purple stripes.

No one can make you angry like your mother can. It usually doesn't take much, an innocent comment, sometimes just a look, that goes straight to your heart and immediately infuriates you. I remember plenty of slammed doors as a teenager and the occasional "you're ruining my life". I even remember an argument years ago which ended with me storming out of the house in tears.

Don't get me wrong. I love my mother. We are very different people and very different mothers. Even so, she had her hand in who I am today, tears and all. My mother knows I love her because I tell her so. We're the rare breed of mother and daugher who actually say the words "I love you". I must admit that I was the one who started it. I don't recall any "I love you's" from my childhood, not a one.* As an adult I was very resentful of this fact. Some years ago I decided to be an adult about it and change it. What was the worst that could happen? My parents wouldn't say it back? Of course they would, and they did. Thus, a new family tradition was born. That means that "I love you" was the last thing I said to my father and the last thing I heard from him. You never know when it's the last one. 

Moms have a big influence on their kids. I know that some day, my girls will grow up and sit around the table talking about how I infuriated them over the years. Just the thought of that warmed my heart. I'd like to hope that now I am an adult, I could return the favor to my mother....and infuriate her like she has infuriated me.... and have some influence on her...positive influence, I hope.

The town where I grew up is teeny tiny, and located in a rural area.There is a university though, so we felt all worldly about that when we were kids. Any new people in our town were usually professors, doctors, or other professionals. It wasn't a place where people moved to but rather away from. I mean there wasn't any reason to move there if it wasn't for a job. We didn't get many or any foreigners back then.

Flash forward to today...my hometown is still teeny tiny. The area is still rural, but maybe a little less than before. There's still a university - it's even bigger than when I was a kid. The newbies in our town come from all kinds, not just professors or professionals. We even have some foreigners.

My aunt happened to be our Spanish teacher in school. We couldn't figure out why we had foreign language lessons back then. We didn't see the need. Plus we did everything to sabotage my aunt's lesson plans, thus leaving us after all those years with little to no Spanish in our heads. My aunt is retired now, but she substitutes in the district schools and works as an aid when a Spanish-speaking kid needs language support. My mother was telling me about my aunt's latest position as an aid in one of the kindergartens. There was a kid who couldn't speak English almost at all. My mother's commentary on that (break out the mom voice), "Well, apparently his parents can't speak a lick of English. I don't know what the problem is, if they're just too lazy or too stupid to learn."

And that's where my head exploded. Pure fury. Skype hath no fury like a daughter for her mother. I don't even get that mad when my mom Skypes me in the middle of the night and asks why I'm not asleep. 

My question to my mother, "Do you think I'm too lazy or too stupid to learn Polish?"

My mother, in her totally mom voice, "No, of course not honey. Polish is a very hard language! And you are a very busy lady. You have your work and the girls."

"So Mom, maybe those parents just came to the US. Maybe they work long hours. Maybe they haven't had an opportunity to learn. There are a million reasons why somebody wouldn't know English and stupid and lazy are not at the top of the list."

The conversation went downhill from there, you can be sure about that. I was angry and disappointed that my mother would not have more sympathy for an immigrant parent when I myself am an immigrant parent. Me, her child.

I still love her though. She's my mom.

Happy Polish Mother's Day!

*I just remembered one "I love you" from my childhood. My father dropped me off at my high school and just as I reached the main doors where my friends were waiting, he got out of the car and shouted, "Chri-is! I loooooove you!"

How did I get here?

Here. Sunday morning. In my claw foot bath up to my ears in bubbles. In my "German" house in Poland. Steaming cup of coffee on the windowsill. Agnieszka Chylinska on the radio.

She doesn't know it, but we spend every Sunday morning together - me in the tub, Agnieszka playing hits on the radio. We've both changed a lot since we first "met". She's no longer the young, rebellious rocker with the need to tell people fak ju. I'm not the young naive American girl who hardly ever said the f-word.

When people meet me they often ask "what are you doing here?" or "how did you get here?" - and I just don't know. It certainly wasn't my intention, but here I am just the same. Life's strange that way.

Heaven Is For Real

Recently someone posed me the question I believe made popular by the latest book and film based on a true story, “Heaven Is For Real”. I was asked, “If you knew heaven was for real, wouldn’t you change the way you live?” The poser of the question, a self-proclaimed devout Christian, has a laundry list of things she would change, if only she were sure that heaven existed.
“…wouldn’t you change the way the you live?”
My answer to the question is no. I wouldn’t change the way I live. I don’t know if that speaks highly of me or poorly of her, but there is nothing I would change. I seek to live and love and take care of myself, my family and this planet to the best of my ability. I see those things as gifts, period, not gifts from a god, just gifts that I should appreciate and keep well, not for the reward that may or may not come after.
As I sit here and think about my cousin who died three days ago of a heroin overdose I wonder what I could have done for him and, religion or no religion, why he was not able to cherish his life. It sounds cliché or even cruel now that he is gone, but he had everything going for him before he started taking drugs – a loving family, a beautiful wife, tons of friends, his health, his good looks (it runs in the family, of course), an excellent education, what looked like might be a promising career, the means necessary to make his dreams come true. And now he’s gone, leaving his mother with the memory of the first time she laid eyes on him at his birth and the last time as she found his lifeless body. I cry, but not for me. I cry for them, his mother who has no time to to grieve as she has to keep the family together, for my uncle who hoped the latest prison time and tough love would finally do the trick, for his sister who lost her closest confidante and of course for him – for losing his will to live, his will to fight. I think that the family will never be the same again.

Ellen’s Oscar Samojebka

There are a few things I like about not living in the US. I do not have to listen to country music which I really do not like. I come from a rural area where every radio station is country and practically every bar and restaurant  has their music set to default country. What a relief. OK, I have to listen to Stachursky more than I’d like, but that is a price I am willing to pay. To ja - typ niepokorny, Nikt nie wie, co we mnie tkwi, Ten sam, choć niepodobny, Kochanie, proszę, wybacz mi.
Another wonderful thing about not living in the US is that I don’t have to know what’s going on in the US. Watched the latest episode of House of Cards? Nope. I’ve never even seen it. I did recently check out HBO’s Girls as someone I know told me that I reminded him of a character on Girls. They are all 20-something New Yorkers, so I highly doubted that and asked which one. He said, “the fat, annoying one.” It’s just like a big hug. I do know important stuff like who the president is and where we may or may not start bombing, but other than that I am out on the US current events. By the way, if Russia and Germany go to war over Ukraine/Crimea, look out. Historically we know where they like to shoot it up. I’m outta here.
It is a wonderful feeling to not have to know anything about any kind of sporting event taking place in America. The Super Bowl? I know that there was one but I have no idea who won. Hell, I don’t even know who played. Go Pirates! Go Eagles! Go Knicks! I don’t even know which sport I am talking about it. It’s an awesome feeling.
The Oscars - I haven’t seen a single Oscar-nominated film this year. Oh, I take that back. I have seen a pirated Gravity leaked by one of the Academy Awards voters. And you know what? I knew what was going to happen. SPOILER ALERT I knew who was not going to make it. I knew that she was dreaming that one part. I knew she was connected to Earth and not the Chinese space station. I knew that she was not going to drown after crashing into the water. I just knew it. However, if Gravity had been a Polish film, Sandra Bullock would have fought off death several times in her fight to get back to the planet Earth only to drown in her own pod. The last scene in the Polish Gravity would be her dead eyes gazing at the unattainable sky above her while her lifeless body sloshed around inside the pod – a poignant but not happy ending.

So all I know about the Oscars is what I see here in this now famous Oscar selfie (with one small addition). I cannot even name all the faces (with one small exception), let alone what film they were in. Maybe ignorance is bliss. Anyhow on the bright side, the next time I fly long-haul, all the movies will be new to me.

Words of Wisdom

Some words of wisdom from my student…
According to my student, men need only three things at home to be content. Here they are in no particular order:

1. sex
2. dinner

3. peace & quiet

Some words of wisdom from Chris…

If you do the sex twice, you don’t have to cook the dinner.

You are very welcome.

Przepraszam, że żyje

Grandmother’s Day and Grandfather’s Day are upcoming here in Poland (January 21 & 22) and along with that, various Grandparent’s Day celebrations in school complete with shows, skits, songs, and homemade cards. After a couple of years in pre-school and a couple of years in primary school I’ve gotten to recognize not only the parents of my children’s peers, but also some of the grandparents. Sometimes it easy to figure it out, you know, genetics and all that. Sometimes it is just a cross-generational affinity for big hair and leopard print leggings that gives the family relations away.

The other parents have got no chance to try to figure out if our Lizzie and Rosie take after their mother’s side or their father’s.This year for us will be the same – which one of us is going to stand in for the missing grandparents? You know because my parents aren’t likely to make it and the other grandparents, well, you know. Last year I stood in so I do believe that I am exempt this year.

 

Around this time of the year, I often get unsolicited advice about our grandparent (or should I say grandmother) problem. The latest from our neighbor in the village who advised me to do what he did when he had a huge conflict with his mother-in-law – buy a bouquet of flowers and apologize. Well, I suppose that might work if my violation were anything like his – getting his teenaged girlfriend pregnant (now his wife of many years) and later getting a bit rough with her in an argument. That I could apologize for. But the point of our argument is the fact that I exist. What am I supposed to do? Buy a bouquet of flowers and say, “Przepraszam, że żyje”?






And to think it all started because of something like this…



To all you grandparents out there, have a very joyful Grandparent’s Day hopefully spent with your loving grandchildren.

Ogólnie mam wszystko w dupie

Ludzie, którzy mnie znają dobrze, dobrze wiedzą że ja osobiście mam prawie wszystko w dupie. To po prostu mój styl bycia. Noworoczne postanowienie też w tym roku mam w dupie. Moja “bardzo koleżanka” na firmowej wigilii wiedząc że mam wszystko w dupie powiedziała że można moje postanowienie noworoczne powinno być powiązane z faktem że mam wszystko w dupie. Zgodziłam się z nią ale teraz nie wiem czy w nowym roku jako New Year’s resolution mam mieć więcej rzeczy w dupie czy mniej?

Pain

Part of my getting my shit together plan is to come to terms with the past and resolve any conflicts while looking ahead into the future. At least that’s what it says on the list.
Well, I’m not exactly going to do that.
I have one personal conflict in the family with my mother-in-law. It doesn’t bother me in the least. I’m not in need of patching things up just in case one of us were to pass on. It is what it is.


However, I thought I would just write something about the time I was ill, just to get it out. I don’t like to talk about it. I don’t even like to think about and avoid the topic altogether if anyone asks me about it.
I started to think about it again after reading an article about pain. You see, pain was my most dominant symptom.
The article which appeared in Gazeta Wyborcza’s supplement Duży Format. Wyłam z bólu. Oni pytali: co za śmieć tu leży? is the title of the interview of patient Anna Kleszcz by Grzegorz Sroczyński. The title in English would be “I howled in pain and they asked: what’s this piece of trash lying here?”
“Przez dwa lata prowadziłam prywatne śledztwo, na ile powszechne jest to, co mi się przydarzyło. Tortury w polskich szpitalach są niestety zgodne z prawem.” (“For 2 years I have led a private investigation of how common it is what happened to me. Torture in Polish hospitals in unfortunately in accordance with the law.”) Anna Kleszcz is fighting so that what happened to her and still happens to other parents each day will change. I wish her all the best. After reading her story, I felt like I knew her.

Ms. Kleszcz suffered from an abscess on her spinal cord. I cannot imagine the pain she suffered, but I can identify with what I can only call cruelty of the medical personnel which by not easing her pain, in fact, tortured her until she lost consciousness and almost until she lost her sanity. It reminds me of one of my doctor’s commenting to the other, “Do something. You are turning this poor woman into a crazy person.” And crazy with pain, I was.
In my case and in Ms. Kleszcz’s, the hospital did not lack the drugs or the means to administer them. The drugs are neither expensive nor addictive. They simply lacked normal human decency, and it is not an isolated incident. Ms. Kleszcz has the data to back up her claims. Additionally, she is collecting cases of patient suicides. People of all ages some with serious illnesses, others without, all sharing in pain, throwing themselves out of hospital windows or down hospital stairs. This is the determination and desperation of patients to end not their lives, but their pain.

I’m not surprised by Ms. Kleszcz’s shocking treatment. I was once that crazy lady writhing and screaming in pain in many a Polish hospital and no I’m not referring to giving birth. For that you scream in pain for awhile, but soon it all goes away and you get to go home with a baby. I just got, “We don’t know what’s wrong with you, but we suspect it’s all in your head.” Then they write on your release papers that you’re sick in the head but in Latin. You take those papers to the next doctor who starts out prejudiced against you and that’s how you go without diagnosis or treatment from doctor to doctor, hospital to hospital.
In the hospital they ask you to stop screaming, then they tell you sharply, then they start screaming. After that they send in the head shrinker. In my experience when you tell the head shrinker to go and fuck herself, you’re not any closer to getting the pain meds you need, but I did thank her (give her the finger) for suggesting meditation and acupuncture. That was right after I begged her for mercy. She showed me none.
I was tested and examined inside and out over more than a year. Every orifice was probed and if you could camera in there, then they did. They even cut some pieces from some pretty strange places and tested them but all was normal except the pain, the pain which kept growing stronger and encompassing more and more of my body.
In one hospital when I told the doctor that my bladder hurt (the main, but not only source of my pain) she said it was impossible. I insisted. She laughed and asked, “How do you know it’s your bladder?” I pinched her arm hard and twisted. She screamed, “Ow! What do you think you are doing?!”  I asked, “Did that hurt?” She shouted, “Yes, it hurt! You pinched my arm!” “How do you know it’s your arm?” I asked. That doctor didn’t help me either.

Countless doctors visits, hospital stays, tests, procedures, research. After 2 years of constant and increasing pain,I could tell you what I didn’t have. I didn’t have stomach ulcers, diverticulitis, stomach cancer, intestinal cancer, or bladder cancer. I did not have ulcers on the inner bladder wall nor bacteria embedded in the wall. There definitely was not a parasite of any kind in my bladder, stomach or intestinal tract, believe me, you don’t want to know how they check it. Additionally, I did not have TB of the kidneys, an ailment I did not even know existed. Although a very stupid ER doctor diagnosed me with kidney stones, my kidneys (as well as my liver) were all clear. Incontinence was not a problem either and bladder capacity seemed to be normal, well, normal for me (no gold medal bladder awards for me even before I was ill).
What did I have? Constant pain, at first starting in my bladder and then taking over practically my whole body along with the never-ending urge to urinate. Add to that intestinal spasms and the slow numbing of my backside and thighs and I was a wreck.
That’s the first time I ever thought that life was too long. I had ‘lived’ 2 years already with this pain and I couldn’t imagine living 2, 3 or 10 more. I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t. I barely ate or drank. I daydreamed about death the way people dream about winning the lottery. But just like the lottery, winnings rarely come right before you spend your last penny, and quick and painless accidental deaths rarely come to those contemplating suicide. I was gonna have to take matters into my own hands.
And I will leave that subject there.

I traveled all over Poland for treatment. I also went to a private hospital in Germany which sent me back to Poland untreated but on the right path to finding a proper diagnosis. I finally found help with doctor #28. Despite my informing him that the medical community was a kurwidół and all doctors were kurwy, he still treated me. (translated to whore’s den and whores – such a proud moment of speaking Polish but I was too sick to enjoy it) He told me what he thought my problem was based on my symptoms and test results. He suggested a treatment method and a time frame. His plan included pain relief. It took almost 5 months before any noticeable change took place, but while taking the pain meds I could sleep a bit. I could eat. After one year, I could smile. After a year and half we starting a weaning plan. After 2 years I was pain-free and thinking about children. I’ve had one relapse since then which was taken care of in a matter of weeks of treatment by the same doctor. It’s a pity he was not doctor #1.
There it is. I’ve got it out.

Uwaga: Rambling post about nothing

I should probably say that mam wszystko w nosie or even mam wszystko gdzieś but the truth is mam wszystko w dupie. Głęboko w dupie

I’m sorry to write it. Sorry that you have to read it. Even sorrier about the hits KS is going to get with those key words, except the person doing that search is just a dirty bugger. Me? I’m just having a bad day.

Oh to be Lewandowski* for a day.

I talked to my father yesterday evening. Maybe that’s why I’m in a funk. I always get homesick after talking to my parents. My father is still unaware that we live on different planets as he complained of his tax bill. In addition to what he already paid in, he had to pay an amount of money above that, which is more than I take in in a whole year. Beh. But I’m glad that he has it and I’m glad that he’s spending it. My parents earned every last penny of that money. We may not have spent a lot of time together when I was a kid but I know that what worried them most (besides the safety of me and my sister) was their security in their older years.

I have to give up my pet peeve – littering. Not that my anti-littering campaign has eradicated littering. It’s just for my own sanity bo szlag mnie trafi every time I go, well, just about anywhere. I’ve decided to just look the other way because otherwise I’m gonna lose it. Just like I look the other way when I see my next-door neighbor. Either she has real problems at work or is incredibly susceptible to stress. At least once a month, she has a real freak-out which usually ends with her locking herself in the bathroom and bawling. Loudly. That’s the only wall we share so we can hear everything, even if we’re not trying. And yes, I admit to trying the first 2 times it happened. I wanted to know if she needed help or something. Mam wszystko w dupie, but I’m not so apathetic to not worry if my neighbor is ok. Through our eavesdropping, we ascertained that her boyfriend was not beating her and in fact has the patience of a saint. I mean how many times can you say, “Kotku, wcale nie musisz tam pracować”?

I’m still not running and the person who designed my new running shoes hates people. Well, hates people who intend to run in those shoes outside in the real world. Those shoes are great for controlled indoor activities such as shopping, but are not made for running on forest trails or sandy, stony paths. The shoes have a kind of waffled bottom which picks up and carries everything from the running surface. You could do CSI on what’s in my shoes and tell me exactly where I’ve been lately. Seriously.

I finally watched the Hunger Games. I haven’t read the books. I had the opportunity to watch it on the airplane last year, but chose instead to watch Adele’s concert twice and some movie with Robert Pattinson in it. I don’t remember the name, but he’s not a vampire. That should narrow it down considerably. Misiu watched HG’s in the seat in front of me so I caught a few of the scenes. The whole premise seemed so disturbing that I put off watching it until now. And I was disturbed as I watched it and for awhile after too. But as I thought about it, worse things happen in the world every day. In many places in the world, kids have worse odds than the those forced to play in the Hunger Games. Beh.

Finally, there has been a kind of compromise on the Ratuj maluchy front. The age for starting 1st grade will still be 6. That hasn’t changed. What has changed is the situation for the kids born in 2007 and 2008 – the last transition kids. Kids born in 2008 are required to go to school at 6, while kids from 2007 could go next year at 6 or wait until the year after that and go to 1st grade at 7 with the kids from 2008. Considering that about 70% of parents have not opted to send their 6-year-olds, that could mean a “double class” of all the left-over 7-year-olds plus the mandatory 6-year-olds. To release some of the pressure, the government has divided the class of 2008 into 2 groups, allowing kids from the second half of the year to start school later. What do the Ratuj maluchy parents have to say to the new proposal? Karolina Elbanowska, leader of the Ratuj maluchy campaign who was quoted in Wyborcza “Nie chcemy sześciolatków w szkołach nigdy: ani za rok, ani za try lata”. I guess ona też ma wszystko w dupie.

Ok Chris, pull up your socks. You have a lot to get done before Majówka.

*Robert Lewandowski is a Polish soccer player who plays for the German team Borussia Dortmund. In a recent match he alone scored 4 goals in the 4-1 win against Real Madrid. Amazing!Lewandowki, however, is criticized for not scoring as many goals while playing on the Polish national team. I didn’t watch the game as I cannot tolerate large groups of German people shouting in unison. It makes me think strange thoughts.

Bang, Bang

America is a gun culture. That is without a doubt. If you live in a gun culture, you may not even notice it. When you leave it (and come back again), that’s when you feel its prominence.

As a child it was perfectly normal that we had guns at home. My father has a large gun cabinet containing all sorts of guns, but the majority are hunting rifles including his prized (and completely useless) muzzle-loader. Maybe I should explain that my father is not a cult leader defending his compound from the authorities. It is all much less sinister than that. I’m from rural Pennsylvania where hunting is a very popular sport and practically everybody I know has a gun of some sort as well as a gun cabinet or even a gun safe at home. This particular gun cabinet of my father’s is as tasteful as a gun cabinet can be but has remained a point of contention in my parents’ marriage as it doesn’t exactly “go” with my mother’s decor. Anyhow, it just has always been there and it still is there. Oh, what an inheritance I will have. I pretty much ignored the cabinet and its contents growing up. My father tried to interest me in shooting several times throughout my childhood. I wasn’t into it, so he gave up.
I will mention here that the keys to the “gun” part of the gun cabinet are locked in the bottom part of the cabinet. The keys to the bottom part of the cabinet are locked in a safe along with the keys to the Harley. And the ammo…I have no idea where that is kept. If we wanted to shoot something just like that, well, good luck. It would take us a good half an hour to get ourselves set up. I know because one year around Thanksgiving my father thought it would be a good idea to try to shoot a turkey from the flock of turkeys that had wandered into our yard. By the time he unlocked everything and realized that he didn’t have any ammo, those poor birds were long gone. And if we wanted to shoot an intruder, well, we would have to break the glass of the cabinet and then beat the intruder with the butt of a rifle.
When I moved from home to start my teaching career, I still was not far from guns, just a different kind of gun use. The school where I worked had a metal detector. It wasn’t for detecting belt buckles.
At my class reunion, one of my classmate’s husbands tried desperately to convince us that it is much safer if everyone carries a gun. He, himself, had decided to leave his gun at home, well, because he was drinking and he thought it best. He was chagrined when we didn’t congratulate him on the wisdom of his decision. He was absolutely sure that the Batman movie theatre killer would not have shot, killed and injured so many people if everyone had had guns. My argument was that the Batman movie theatre killer would not have shot anyone if no one had a gun. He proceeded to explain to me the error of my logic…and the conversation went around and around and around. Then he added some false statistics concerning some “European” countries and when I told him that we live in this mysterious place called “Europe”, he changed his tune. Misiu stated quite rationally that it is hard to kill a whole cinema of people with only a knife, even a big one, and we left it at that.
We were in America on vacation for 6 weeks and we managed to not get shot, on purpose or by accident, so I consider that a success. We had a lot of time to do what we wanted so I read a lot of books and tried to watch some TV (it is difficult to do with all those commercials). Our local library supplied me with an excellent selection of John Irving’s. I started with “Last night in Twisted River” which couldn’t have been written without a gun culture. That book couldn’t be set in Poland.  Same goes for “The World According to Garp” and practically all the other books I read and the films I watched.
The news each evening was horrifying. The shootings. The people carrying guns. And as an aside, the fires…wood-framed homes catch on fire quite frequently. Who would’ve thought?
Sometimes I think what I would do if the Germans or the Russians attacked Poland. (I usually have such thoughts when I am in my village house with the kids at night and I think about the German family who had to move out of my house years ago and the Polish family who moved in. I get weird thoughts at night.) How would I defend my family? We don’t own a gun. We have 2 axes and a pretty wonky pitchfork, but that’s all. And then I think about the probability of this scenario -my family standing alone against foreign invasion. What if the freedom of Poland depended on me and my shooting ability? Poland would be in deep shyte, if that were the case.
The way we behave in these cultures is different. I don’t behave as if someone could shoot me here in Poland. There in the US, I do. But who am I to question the right to bear arms protected in the United States Constitution? I’m just one, small person who would prefer to not get shot.
A quote from a nytimes article

Every day 80 Americans die from gunshots and an additional 120 are wounded, according to a 2006 article in The Journal of Policy Analysis and Management. Those 80 Americans left their homes in the morning and went to work, or to school, or to a movie, or for a walk in their own neighborhood, and never returned. Whether they were dead on arrival or died later on in the hospital, 80 people’s normal day ended on a slab in the morgue, and there’s nothing any of us can do to get those people back.

And that is the human cost of our Second Amendment right. In my opinion, the cost is too high.

So I have a request for proponents of unlimited access to guns. Spend some time in a trauma center and see the victims of gun violence — the lucky survivors — as they come in bloody and terrified. Understand that our country’s blind embrace of gun rights made this violent tableau possible, and that it’s playing out each day in hospitals and morgues all over the country.

The nytimes article quoted above was written by Theresa Brown, an oncology nurse and the author of “Critical Care: A New Nurse Faces Death, Life, and Everything in Between.”

www.wolnoscodreligii.pl

As some of you know, the topic of religion and the role of religion in the public sphere is very close to my heart. Here’s my opinion in a nutshell. I feel that we shouldn’t press our religious or spiritual beliefs onto others. I believe that we should respect one another. I feel that many “believers” don’t realize that my lack of “belief” is in fact a “belief”. What I most strongly believe is that my right to not believe is just as valid as their right to believe. Whew, that’s a lot of “believing” in one paragraph.
Living in a quite religious country, I have learned when to keep my mouth shut (well, most of the time, well some of the time, ok, I’m getting better at it). I don’t talk about religion with people who seem to be sensitive about the issue. Just recently a new student, an IT guy in his early 30s, asked me if I was Catholic. I replied that I am not. Long story short, he’s going to pray for my salvation from eternal damnation…as is his right. He is an example of why many agnostics and atheists just keep their mouths shut and sometimes “turn the other cheek”. Not everyone is so kind and promises to pray for you when they find out that you don’t believe.* Why should I be embarrassed to say that I’m a non-believer? Hence, the billboard above which reassures me that I am not alone. (Don’t believe in God? You’re not alone.)
The next billboard states, “I don’t kill. I don’t steal. I don’t believe.” This message really hit me hard and here is why. My mother-in-law has disowned me. It happened about 6 months ago. We haven’t seen each other or spoken since, neither has my husband or my children. I’ve been debating if I should, could, would write something about it or not. The crux of it is that we are not going to christen our children and my mother-in-law finally asked why. Long story short, my mother-in-law said some horrible things to me and then I began defending myself and explaining what a good person I am – how I am a good wife and mother, how I help out at school and in the community. And then I realized what I was doing. I was trying to explain to someone that I am a good human being. What for? Even now, here, I feel the need to explain to you that I live a full life, that my family is part of the community, that my children know a lot about world religions, that we are good people. I will never, ever explain myself like that again to anybody…not even at the pearly gates.
*I also don’t like the phrases such as non-believer. I believe in something, just not what they believe in. The use of non-believer suggests that what the “believers” believe in is the one, true way and we “non-believers” are bereft of any of our beliefs or spirituality or even morality for that matter. But alas, I cannot find another way to phrase it, so I will stick with believers and non-believers.

My parents are not pathological hoarders like on TV but…

…that’s only because their house is enormous.
Years ago my parents home housed,
my parents (2 sztuki),
my grandmother (1 sztuka),
and my sister and myself (2 sztuki).
At one point we all had cars (5 sztuk) and TVs (5 sztuk).
I almost forgot about my father’s Harley (1 sztuka), not to mention various lawnmowers (2 sztuki, riding and pushing), a weedeater (1 sztuka), a four-wheeler (1 sztuka) and an industrial digger (1 sztuka).
That’s a lot of people and a lot of people’s stuff for one house and a double garage to hold. Somehow we and all our stuff fit in this house and we lived somewhat harmoniously for years and years. Luckily, we each had our own bedrooms and there were enough bathrooms that we rarely had to wait get in there before school or work.
Now the same home houses,
my parents (2 sztuki),
and their cars (2 sztuki), their TVs (5 sztuk), the Harley, the 2 lawnmowers, the weedeater and the chainsaw, the four-wheeler, the industrial digger, a garage full of power tools and various sundries, the bikes (3 sztuki), the kayaks (2 sztuki), the RV which has it’s own 2 TVs, and the boat.

I’m not writing all that to brag. Anyhow, what is there to brag about? It’s not my stuff. I’m not writing it to say “woe is me, my parents are drowning in consumer debt” because they are not (the RV and the boat they bought for us to use for our vacation and paid cash). I am writing this to say WHAT THE WHAT!?!
Who needs all that stuff?
We dragged our 2 suitcases (one large, one carry-on size) for 4 people into what used to be my room at my parent’s house. I settled the girls into what used to be my grandmother’s room. Knowing that we were in for a 6-week stay, we decided to unpack everything into the dressers or closets.
And so I began to unpack. But hey, guess what. All the dresser drawers were full. Next dresser, full and the dresser after that full. I tried my old closet, and yes we were full. I tried my grandmother’s old room which had been personally cleaned out by me after her death, Oh what did we find there? Full, full, full. The hall closet full. My sister’s old room full. The downstairs closet full, closet under the stairs full, full and some more full. With what you ask? The majority of the items were clothes. Clothes for all seasons in all colors in a 4-size range up and down from the owner’s current size. Many of the clothes also span 4 decades of style as well but that is neither here nor there.
Next would have to be home items such as sheets, towels, blankets, pillows, curtains, etc. followed by dishes, trays, glassware and tupperware. After that would be shoes, books, guns (yes, I said guns) and decorations for every possible American holiday. Lastly, would be old appliances they forgot they had and bought another one (yes it is necessary to have a coffee maker in the main kitchen, in the den kitchen, in the garage and in the RV).
Why do American people have so much shit stuff? That’s a real question not an introduction to my eloquent and insightful analysis entitled “Americans and their shit, an expose”. Nope, I’m really asking. Why?
One of my American friends was amazed to hear that I only have  4 pairs of jeans (and that they all fit me) and less than 10 pairs of shoes. Another friend upon seeing a picture of my village kitchen with its free-standing cabinets asked the question,  “But where do you keep all your shit?” Here’s the key, the real kicker…I’m not better at organizing than the average American. I just don’t have any shit. I don’t know how and I don’t know why, but I just don’t. Maybe it is because I never knew how long I was going to stay in one place (as an adult) so I just avoided acquiring stuff. Maybe it is because I worked in a store during university and it cured me of any desire to shop. Maybe it is because I prefer practical things, things that have a purpose beyond pure esthetics. Maybe it is because I have a good grasp on the concept of essential and non-essential. Or maybe it is just because I am kind of poor. That’s a good explanation too.

My birthday

My birthday is coming up. Ok, it’s in 2 months, but at my age that is just around the corner.
The girls asked me what kind of birthday cake I’m going to have and they don’t mean the flavor. They already know what kind of cakes they want and their birthdays are in April. Lizzie wants a Disney Cars party and Rosie wants a Princess party – so basically a repeat of her last party.
What kind of cake do I want?
It was so much easier as a kid. I could easily come up with a theme that defined me and if not defined me, at least pleased me. What cake design could do all that for me as an adult? I’m stumped. I better get thinking because not only is the cake for me but I will be the one making it.
Hmmm….

If you can read this, then…What would you do?

Here’s the thing. We bought our house 9 years ago. Before we bought it, no one had lived in it for 7 years. The man who had lived there before us was an alcoholic. He died there from drinking (he was relatively young) and was discovered by my nosey next-door neighbors, dead on the basement stairs.
When we came to view the house with the real estate agent, she had to get the keys from the nosey next door neighbors, Mr and Mrs S. These neighbors are in their 70’s and have children in their 50’s. They accompanied us uninvited on the tour of the house and land. They seemed genuinely pleased when we bought our house and said they were glad to have some life back in the place. They seemed a bit up in our business (accompanying all work crews uninvited), but we figured nosey neighbors were better than indifferent ones.
Mr and Mrs S. had been using our land and had been keeping their chickens in our chicken coop for years before we bought the place and were none too pleased to have to evacuate their chickens. I understood them because chickens stink and they didn’t want to mess up their lovely yard. But what’s mine is mine so…the chickens remained(???). I even joked that chickens in my yard were in danger of finding their way into my Sunday rosół. The chickens still remained. Eventually we had to tear down the chicken coop to facilitate the chickens’ exit. Mrs S. was happy to take all the wood from the tear-down, so no hard feelings, I guess.
Mrs S. and I have nothing in common, let’s face it, but we used to have nice chats over the fence. She’s very opinionated as older village ladies (of any nationality) can be, but my power to ignore her comments (pretending I didn’t understand) was always strong. C’mon we have to find a way to get along with our closest neighbors despite our differences. It just takes a bit of goodwill on both sides (or a lot of goodwill on one side). There was so much goodwill between us that we even have a door in the fence between our properties. We don’t use it. Ok we used it once, invited, and the neighbor’s dog promptly bit Misiu on the leg.
9 years ago, before we had done any work on our house and before the house was livable (in my opinion livable, somebody had lived there without water or electricity) Mrs S. asked if she could collect stinging nettle from our neglected garden for her chickens. We agreed then. Our house and garden are now maintained. There’s no stinging nettle, hence no need to enter our garden. Oh, except for the pears. The pears which hang over into our garden with the rotten pears I have to clean up each year. The good pears mysteriously disappear from the overhanging branches each and every year. Once we even met our neighbor and their children in our garden removing the pears. They gave us a tepid dzien dobry, did not speak to us, treated us as intruders, did not high tail it out of our garden and did not even offer us a pear.
So after a recent hubbub on our street in which we were told by the neighbor that we should go back to where ever it is we are from and that we have no right to an opinion because we have only owned our house for a year (we’ve owned it for 9 years and lived in it for the last 5), we were prepared for a pear fight this season. There’ll be no pear fight, of course, as the pears have been cleaned out in our absence.
So here’s the thing. I don’t care about the pears. But since then I have been made aware that this neighbor enters my garden on a regular basis. I have photos. The suspicious fartuch is clearly visible. I even have photos of Mrs S. standing in my yard, leaning on my fence, talking to another neighbor. The pictures are from many different days we know not only from the date but from the rotation of fartuchy. The person who took the pictures says that my neighbor does no harm and they cannot in fact figure out why she enters our garden in the first place. It is not to check that everything is ok. We have not spoken for months since we were so rudely treated by her and her children. (The rude incident while not initially involving us took place on our land and involved the police)
And now I am wondering how to address this issue. It would be difficult for me to lock all entrances to my garden. And the real issue is, I don’t just want to say, “Hey, I know you come to my garden when I am not here. Please stop.” because honestly, where is the fun in that? I thought about writing a sign and leaving in the yard that says, “Mrs, S, if you or your son or daughter can read this, then spier…” but I think that’s too aggressive especially considering her age. What should I do?

Dziecinstwo

I wouldn't say that I had a happy childhood. And I mean normal-happy not "Sweet 16-spend 50K on a birthday bash and get a BMW from my parents-happy. I just mean my childhood wasn't especially happy. I remember packing my bag at age 10 to run away. My mother found my backpack and got so scared after she heard my plan to hitchhike from the local truck-stop that she didn't really say anything to me for a week, good or bad, other than "don't run away".

I am afraid to say that it was an unhappy childhood because number one, that is totally dramatic and pathetic and I prefer not to think about it and number two because I had a home and parents and school and clothes and all that kind of stuff that some kids don't have.

My parents are not now and were not then especially warm parents. They do tell me that they love me if I tell them first. I don't recall any genuine hugs (I suppose there were some from an age too young for me to remember) or in fact any unnecessary physical contact such as tickling, patting on the head, holding hands except to cross the street. That makes me sad.

One bright spot in my childhood was my grandmother. She spent time with me, talked to me, taught me how to cook. I like to cook with my girls and tell them about how my grandmother had taught me. It makes me feel close to her. Oh how I wish she were still here.

Lucky Ducks

We are now 24 zloty richer as we have won the lotto – 3 numbers- as I knew we would. How did I know? Well, all the signs were pointing to our incredible good luck and inevitable win.
On Thursday, I saw 2 storks (which are good luck, aren’t they?) – one at work and then another at school. Those teachers are pretty crafty.

a stork created by a little cancer patient for the charity auctioncraft storks made from cardboard and tissue paper

On Friday, I saw 3 chimney sweeps. And mind you, that was three separate chimney sweeps on three separate occasions. I held my button each time and considered myself very lucky*
Then, Friday evening I was watching an old episode of “Friends” and they were talking about chimney sweeps. It was a sign.
Saturday morning there were 3 ladybugs on my bedroom window, inside. Ladybugs are lucky, aren’t they?
Then on the way to the market, I saw a  new plastic stork in my neighbor’s front garden. At the market I saw a lovely stork Easter decoration and we had parked right in front of the Ruch Kiosk which sells lottery tickets. We were shoe-ins to win.
Hmmm, what to do with 24 zloty? I will take my Grandma’s old advice and not spend it all in one place.
*My three chimney sweeps must be somewhere in this picture below. Chimney sweeps are considered lucky in Poland and if you see one (or three for that matter) you should touch one of your buttons for a moment for good luck. I suppose touching one of the chimney sweeps buttons would be even luckier. But the most luck of all would be of a college student I once saw in the Market Square. She approached 2 chimney sweeps and from what I could surmise made a request to which they agreed. After that, she took the older gentleman’s face in her hands, kissed him on the lips delicately but with fervor and then pulled one of his buttons off of his jacket and walked away with it. As she was walking away, she tossed the button up in the air and caught it. The chimney sweeps (and a few passersby, such as myself) stood dumbfounded.
Dobra dziewczyna, nie?

Wisdom And Worries According to Chris

Some things that have been going through my mind lately…
If you don’t buy potato chips and nobody at home buys potato chips, you will not eat potato chips which is “A Good Thing”. Hence, if you don’t want to eat potato chips (or crisps for the rest of you), then don’t buy them. Who knew it was so simple?
If you don’t have money to spend, don’t go to the shops (brick and mortar or internet). No visit to the shops means no spending. It also means no new shoes for Misiu which he really needs. Gotta work out the bugs in my plan.
Not eating meat is not as difficult as I first envisioned. Aaaannd if you don’t buy meat, then you don’t eat meat (see my great theory of potato chip relativity above). Rather simple really. Not that I will never buy or eat meat again, but I wanted to experiment with not eating meat and I have learned that I am able to not eat meat and not really miss it. Having said that, fish, dairy and eggs would be incredibly difficult to eliminate from my diet. Sorry Vegans.
Some people need to be cut out of my Facebook “friends” list – specifically the friends who keep linking stupid shyte from Fronda’s webpage.
I am wondering what’s going to happen to my family budget if gasoline reaches 6 or 7 (or God forbid 8) zloty a liter (it is approaching 6 now). The potato chip theory doesn’t really help me here because I still have to get to the city. If I only needed to reach one location, I would use public transport,but I usually need to hit 3 to 6 places in one day excluding trips to pre-school (which I usually do on foot).
I am slowly preparing myself psychologically (and financially) for a visit to my parents in the US. I suspect that my family and friends have got old since my last visit ;) We miraculously have not changed a bit ;) OK, that’s not true. We have doubled since our last visit  - I mean there are 4 of us instead of 2, not that we got fat ;) There is a strong probability that I am going to freak out when I arrive for reasons too various to mention, ha, too various to even think about.
Ok, I have to go first of all to pick up my children from school and second of all because I have started to think about all my “freak out” reasons and I would like to stop this train of thought before I really do freak out.

Here’s a pic from our last trip to the US. All my friends in Poland really love this picture. I wonder why?

Kurwa Poniedziałek Znowu

My Bad Day which started Monday of last week when I bumped a lady (I mean her car) while parking and she about had an aneurysm has now extended to A Bad Week.
My name has officially been changed from Kurwa Piątek Znowu to Kurwa Poniedziałek Znowu and I suspect the day after tomorrow it will once again be Kurwa Środa Znowu. 
My new name is quite a mouthful so as a modern woman, I think I will hyphenate. Please direct all official correspondence to Pani Kurwa Poniedziałek-Znowu.
Thank You.

Poor By Choice

That’s what I am, don’t you know?

Poor By Choice.

According to my father.

Poor By Choice.

It’s a thing.

Want to join?

How quaint it is, he thinks, to not have enough money to make ends meet. How utterly charming it is to work and work and work and to not buy what you need when you need it because you just cannot afford it. It is just pat-you-on-the-head adorable to lose a big contract and not know when or if another one is coming along. It is all a rebellion, you see. A rebellion against America, against capitalism, against my parents, it is anti-globalist even, my conscious decision to be poor.

I have explained, blue-in-the-face explained, to my father that there is poor and there is poor. By Polish standards, I am normal as in SNAFU-normal, but still with my head above water -well, actually slightly below water but I’m not down for the count yet. By American (my father’s) standards, we are poor but by global standards we are lucky. We are not poor as in live-in-a-cardboard-shack poor but that doesn’t help me when all I want to do is…oh, never mind, it’s really not that important. Four tickets to the US cost about 12,000+ PLN. Bleh.