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  • Looks like Ginger’s going to make it after all
    1/17/2020 Tuesday morning I will be starting the next leg of my life’s journey. A new job in downtown Indianapolis! For years, I have dreamed of working downtown, probably due to the influences of Marlo Thomas and Mary Tyler Moore.
    As a little girl, living in Pittsboro, Indiana (population 867), I was enthralled with the television shows depicting single women leaving small towns to make their way in the big city.
  • Making the most of my unplanned vacation
    1/11/2020 It was a typical Friday the 13th. My favorite bracelet broke in three places, a bank glitch prevented me from accessing money, I got pulled over by a cop, my coffee order was wrong, and then I got fired.
    I managed to stay fairly calm during the unexpected, and wholly unwarranted firing process, but once I left the office, all bets were off. I asked my fella to meet at a local pub, and over beers, and through my tears, I poured it all out.
  • Ginger looks at backside of 50 . . . figuratively AND literally
    1/4/2020 Journal Entry
    December 20th, 2019
    Morning of my fiftieth birthday
    I am spending three days in a cabin, secluded on thirty acres. I planned to spend my time in solitude and reflection, culminating in a rebirthing ceremony at the exact time of my birth.
  • Ginger goes back to dawn of the ’80, ahead to ‘20s
    12/28/2019 New Year’s Eve 1979, I had just turned ten-years-old. Even at that young age, it felt extremely significant to observe the dawn of a new decade. I wanted to make sure I never forgot the exact moment that it became “the eighties.”
    For Christmas, my great-grandmother had given me a pink, ceramic clock fashioned in the form of a little girl wearing a sunbonnet. At 11:30 p.m., I took the clock from my bedside and carried it to the dining room table.
  • Ginger heard the bells on Christmas day
    12/21/2019 I heard the bells on Christmas Day
    Their old familiar carols play
    And wild and sweet
    The words repeat
    Of Peace on earth, good-will to men
  • When Christmas gets real
    12/7/2019 On Sunday afternoon, I bought a new Christmas tree. I’d like to say we spent the day at the tree farm, trudging across the acres, waiting expectantly for the perfect tree to wave his branches and say, “Here I am! Choose me!”
  • 11/26/2019 Thankfulness is watching the sun rise on a crisp, fall day. 
    Thankfulness is ending the day knowing you can be proud of what you’ve accomplished. 
    Thankfulness is when you follow your instinct instead of conventional wisdom, and everything happens exactly as you knew it would. 
    Thankfulness is knowing you are not only okay alone, but that you are thriving on your own. 
    Thankfulness is when, after five years of thriving on your own, the person who has been dancing along the edges of your daydreams actually shows up. 
    Thankfulness is having someone come alongside you and say, “I know you can do this, but I’d like to help.”
    Thankfulness is a friend with carpentry skills.
  • 11/16/2019 Due to my budding interest in Buddhism, on Saturday morning, I dragged the kids and my significant other to a documentary on Plum Village. The monastery in the south of France was founded by Thich Nhat Hanh, a Buddhist Monk exiled from his home country of Vietnam. I’m drawn to the peace he called for and the practice of mindfulness that he teaches. 
    Afterward, we had lunch at Bru Burger, did a little Christmas shopping for my grandpup, and hit Amelia’s bakery for bread and cookies. 
    At that point, I was ready to go home, but my other asked if I’d like to shop at an international grocery store. I wasn’t certain I was up to it, but we forged ahead. 
    Upon stepping inside, 13-year-old daughter commented, “I feel like I’m in Germany.”
    We picked up a couple of produce items, paused to look at giant fish laid out on ice, and examined the packaged pig parts you don’t typically find in the grocery stores we frequent. 
  • 11/1/2019 In the early 1900s, my great-great grandfather, McKeever Germain, owned a restaurant in the Indianapolis area. My mommaw (his granddaughter) used to tell stories about how all the men gathered for breakfast that “Mack” cooked in a HUGE cast iron skillet. To illustrate the size, she would hold her arms out as though embracing a large beach ball.
    I have thought about that skillet for years. Mommaw said he would make sausage gravy for biscuits, then use it to fry eggs and more than a pound of bacon at a time. It was perfect for flapjacks, sausages, potatoes, and all manner of foods from his German heritage.
    My aunt ended up with Grandpa’s skillet, and I’ve not been able to successfully bribe her out of it. Finally, it occurred to me that I could buy my own. So, I did just that. Thanks to a pit stop on my travels through Tennessee, I am the proud owner of a beautiful 15” cast iron skillet. I’d like to get the 17-inch, but I need to do some weight training and arm strengthening first. 
    In my thirty years of adulthood, I have never enjoyed cooking as much as I do now. In fact, I can solidly state that I never truly enjoyed cooking. It was a task that I performed simply because I held the traditional role of wife and mother. But it didn’t come naturally to me, and I had a very hard time planning family pleasing menus on a tight budget. The dishes I learned to cook while growing up with a frugal mother (liver and onions, baked SPAM, and tuna noodle casserole), were not well-received.
  • 10/26/2019 My dad was the primary bread winner for our family. When I was a child, he ran his own construction company while also pursuing a degree. My mom worked part-time jobs to help pay the bills, but primarily she took care of the household. 
    When I married, at the age of 21, I held a full-time job. When our baby was born, it became my heart’s desire to be a stay-at-home mom, so my husband sought a better paying job. There were a few years when I worked part-time to help make ends meet, but eventually my dream became reality. 
    I share this history so you will understand my perspective when I say, there are things about the patriarchy and traditional gender roles that I rail against, but I have also come to recognize that it positioned me in a place of privilege. Even though finances were tight, and I worked hard raising children and running a business from the kitchen table, I’ve never felt the weight of being a sole bread winner. 
    As a child, I was sensitive to our financial struggles, but never doubted that dad would provide the things we needed. It was simply a given. I had the same childlike confidence in my husband. 
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