we'll know the reason why

The second semester of my second senior year (say that seven times fast) I had a part-time job on campus as a scholarship fundraiser. I would call up alumni and convey this sentiment, “Hello respected alumni, the pride of NMSU, tell me about where life has taken you. Give unto me the wealth of information that you have to bestow upon your fellow Aggie! And now that we have spoken about that.... let me remind you of an incredible opportunity --a chance for you to assist students that ARE as you WERE once. Struggling perhaps and just very deserving of financial support and the emotional and academic relief that comes with having earned and received an alumni sponsored scholarship. This is your chance to share your success with your department and your Aggie community.”

And while you might think that sounds cheesy or pushy... I had many amazing conversations with many awesome Aggies who were happy to donate a little here or a lot there. These people were excited to hear from a student and they wanted to know how they could help us.

Tonight was my turn.

But before I could get a call from NMSU Foundation I received an entirely different sort of call.

A call from ACS. And they ask me the same things they always ask me. Asking me to confirm my address, which takes a few tries because after THREE MONTHS and dozens of calls they STILL HAVE NOT UPDATED my contact information. They ask me why I haven't made a full payment. I break down the math of my budget for them. I live off of less than $200 a month after expenses and partial loan payments. They ask me if I am in school and I tell them I'm not but, “I am considering going back to school to put myself further in debt if it means I won't have to get your calls for a few more years.”

Then they drop the bomb.

“Do you intend on paying this loan?”

Tonight, I finally lost it. I said something like, “Let ME ask YOU a question. Does anyone ever say, 'NO. I do not plan on paying this loan back. I think I will allow my credit rating to continue to plummet and create a financial situation in which I will never ever be approved for a loan ever ever again.'? Does ANYONE ever say that? Does anyone ever tell you that they DO NOT INTEND ON PAYING BACK THEIR LOAN?”

The answer is no. No one ever says that. We all went out there and took out loans to get our degrees because once we had said degrees amazing American boot-strappy jobs were supposed to be all around for us to GET and then live out some intellectually refined professional life that provided financial stability for ourselves, our spouses and our many American babies... who were going to go to college someday. JUST LIKE MOM AND POP!

Paying back our loans was going to happen in the months following landing that first job-- doing something that wasn't what we always wanted to do, but at the very least would LEAD us to becoming that thing we had always wanted to be when we grew up.

Astronauts. Engineers. Architects. Doctors. President.

English teachers who moon-light as small press authors of poignant and modern poetry that will revolutionize nothing but at the very least stir some hearts.

I mean, the revolution part would be nice, but it is not expected.

Sometimes these things don't happen in the time frame between getting a degree and the first round of calls from the loan collectors. I remind myself that it is totally ok. They can't get blood from a stone. I'm a first generation graduate. Obviously there is a period of trial and error. Adjustment. Whatever.

After standing up to the innocent (she's just doing her job) out of country (wouldn't it be cool if ACS created some jobs for a country full of Americans who can't find jobs or pay their loans?) outbound phone support agent... I am still a little indignant about the humiliation of it all. I go to choir. Decompress about debt and re-compress about my sociological place in my synagogue (which is another blog for another time).

That's when the baby Aggie calls me.

As soon as I hear him I know. I KNOW. And I am devastated.

When I had his job, I swore to myself that I would give something each time they called me. I promised myself that I would help sponsor a scholarship in my department. For a few reasons. One- I had received a scholarship for a set of poems in 2008. It wasn't from NMSU Foundation funds, it was from LOLA. But it was a scholarship and it made a, “I don't have to pay for textbooks next semester” kind of impact on my life. Two- the majority of alumni that I called donated to their departments... Ag and Eng. Ag and Eng. Ag... and Eng. Very few Lit majors were in the roster and those that were... didn't have money to give. Three- employees get a lot of praise for landing a donation. After dozens of hang ups, answering machines, wrong numbers and the like... it always just felt good to talk to another Aggie and land a donation. ANY SIZE donation.

Which is why I was nearly in tears while the baby Aggie starts asking me how I am, where I am, what am I doing.... It's all part of the lead up.

I tried to stop him. I said, “You're from the scholarship call center aren't you? I used to have your job. I have to tell you, tonight my answer is going to have to be no.”

And he says, bravely, “That's awesome that you worked here. Then you know I have to keep trying, right?”

“Ok kid. Let's do this.”

I let him know a lot of things. That I'm not using my degree. I'm working retail. I'm in New Orleans. Yes he can update my contact information so they will put me in the right time zone queue. Yes I know that NMSU Career Services can be utilized by alumni. If I had to pick an all time favorite class it would be Chaucer with Schirmer. Though to be fair I loved all of my teachers EXCEPT Cunnar who was a sexist shithead. I'm sorry I can't donate now, but I INTEND on donating to the department at some point. I really, for honest and true, want to help someone in my department. Someone that wants to write a revolution someday. I want to be that alumnus.

All of this is while I am on Broad and Washington waiting for my transfer bus. I have drunk people screaming the N word, young men at least half my age eye balling my person, and a car backfiring... repeatedly... in the back ground.

I tell the baby Aggie to tell the boss I said hello. I apologize for not helping him land a donation and wish him luck. All of this happens and I oddly feel a little more... decompressed but not decomposed.

I've been in need of some revolution. Or poetry. Or both. But just because I need a revolution doesn't mean I get to act a fool and jump from the comal to the campfire.

Revolution or no, I've got to get a plan.

Step one. Breathe. Slide. Aum. Shine.

And always now “here to do or die”.

Time doesn't heal all wounds... but honey does.

The problem with feeling that I was born to be Jewish but failed to be born to a Jewish family?

I don't have a Jewish mother. When I want to bake or cook something that is supposed to evoke memory, tradition and comfort I have to search for a third party fabrication. And pray that some comforting spark of satisfaction will manifest through the unknown. I have to start from scratch.

To be fair my mother taught me a lot of things in the kitchen. Never how to braid a smooth loaf of challah though. I'm sure that if my mom were Jewish she would have taught me how to make matzo ball soup with roasted green chile. I don't know if that's a thing yet... but I'm going to work on making it a thing.

But there are other problems.

I didn't have Jewish parents that made sure I would be inspired by Israel in my youth. Instead I have a parent that is too preoccupied with political agenda to see that I'm just trying to quench a spiritual thirst that had gone on far too long. So I have to go now or as soon as possible. Before my heart becomes tougher with age. And it will get tougher because sometimes I have days like today. Really. Bad. Days. Really, “If this is a cosmic test of my strength and stamina.... why do I have to prove that to anyone or God?” kind of days. I don't even know what my dad would think about me leaving. Honestly, after the first parental reaction... I don't want to find out.

I don't have Jewish siblings to help me remember the words to songs. Or the right time to put out Havdalah candles. Though if Annie were Jewish she would probably think me living on a Kibbuz is overrated and mundane. As it is she thinks it is way cool. And when you've been sisters for 30 years it's hard to come up with things that make your little sister think you're cool. So maybe I'll get to be cool again.

All of this bubbling up because I had a bad day when I was trying to have a good one. And because of Rosh Hashanah. This time last year (ish) the man I was in love with was trying to delicately tell me that he was just not that into me. I cried and cried through a bowl of apples and honey. It was no way to bring in a new year.

I mean, it's flippin' Rosh Hashanah. A holy day covered in honey! It's a sweet and productive taste bud party before some seriously heavy spiritual stuff goes down.

To turn things around I baked muffins. An army of muffins to keep the blues away.

Naomi's Apple Honey Muffins

Makes 12 muffins or an army of 24 mini muffins (I suggest making an army of muffins. They are more fun to look at, eat and share.)

• 2-1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1-1/2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/2 Tablespoon salt
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1/2 cup softened
• 1 cup honey (the darker the better)
• 2 eggs
• 1/2 cup goat milk
• 1 cup chopped apple

Grease muffin tin with olive oil. In small bowl, mix flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt and cinnamon. In large bowl, cream butter with honey until light and fluffy. Note- steal of spoon of fluffy apple butter for yourself. It's flippin' awesome. Put it on some bread. Beat in eggs and milk. Stir dry ingredients into wet mixture until just moistened. Stir in apples. Add more flour if the batter is super sticky.  Pour into muffin tin. Bake at 350°F for 20 to 30 minutes, or until golden brown and toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool on wire racks. Eat muffins. With more honey. Also share them. 

Not all 24 muffins are present in this picture. I was hungry.