It is still very much the age of "Prohibition". Prohibition hasn't ended simply because you have a card, or a dispensary, or a "legal" supply of cannabis. That isn't an argument. There are no sides. It's simply truth. The United States was perhaps united once, long ago for about five minutes. When it comes to legislating cannabis the United States of America are anything but "united". How Can I Say "thank you"?We still can't talk about what we do. We can't talk about who we are. We can't tell people what we can do for them. We can suggest it. We can "dress the part". We can even smell really good in public and try to look as high as we possibly can. But we aren't free enough to say what it is that we do. Not really. And in the spirit of being vague and obtuse, we also can have difficulty obtaining medicine. Medicine in a prohibition state is a lot of work. Work we don't talk about. We simply do it. We aren't alone though. We are surrounded. It's a bit like being a deep well. It's a bit dark, kinda damp and occasionally we hear distant voices and lights shine down. Hope comes floating from wherever it comes from. It's like a bright light when those who know of our plight have compassion and are moved to toss into our well. Often it feels like your a circle of light above our heads and we have hope that we aren't forgotten. We are not forgottenAs Michigan legalized and Illinois poises itself to open doors in two days, Wisconsin feels cold. The bottom of a cold, dark, damp well is a foreboding place to be. As we move forward into 2020, the hope we all had was that somehow someway someone would finally do the big math and just give us our flowers. That didn't happen. We need to ask ourselves, how much more are we willing to allow this to go on? Are we willing to keep denying cancer patients medicine that we know heals? Are we willing to keep denying end of life care in prohibition states? Are we willing to just keep walking up to the well and contributing to the black market? Look, I'd love nothing more than to never have to access the black market. I've no shame in adding to it. I will gladly walk up to anyone's well of prohibition and toss in whatever they need. To those who generously added us to their "to do" list this year and included us in your life plan, we humbly say "thank you". We appreciated those who worked with us to get those in need the meds they needed. We are merely links in the chain that is us all. We didn't hear "no" often this year. And the words "I am not in a position to help" is always good enough for me. We can't all contribute in the same ways, but we must in some way all contribute. To continue to support one another in the age of Prohibition 2020's.
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When Hanukah is alive inside you, you begin to understand the miracle. I am not Jewish. I do not practice Judaism. I however have a deep respect, reverence and awe of the “chosen People”. There is no doubt to me that they are in fact chosen. For what remains to be seen, their story isn’t over. Sometimes I wish, from time to time that I had been chosen. But I wasn’t. And I’m still not entirely certain what they have been chosen for. Whatever it is, I hope it’s really good. It would be cool to see the end story and how it paid. I digress. In that thought, it’s important to note that this time of year Hanukkah is very much alive. It is an energy, a current where your bowl is filled and vessels are extended. It doesn’t even matter IF you believe this truth. It simply is a truth. It’s a reality for many this time of year. When the cupboard tends to lend to sparceness, fulfillment is granted from the heavenlies. I cannot explain this scientifically. I cannot explain this rationally. And therein lies the miracle. The miracle in your resources, that took 8 dollars and allowed it to the do the work of 80. We saw this amplification in every area of our resources this year. Every place we put our heart and our value was increased to stretch beyond what was materially capable. What should have been impossible wasn’t. We truly were stretched beyond what we could do and yet we still did it! That’s Hanukkah. Hanukkah is the crumbs from the table. The increase isn’t just for those who practice Judaism and are the chosen ones. The increase is a cyclical constant that the Maccabees took note of so that we in turn could remember to look. Remember to see. Remember to remember that increase is coming. Increase comes. Increase is here. So take a look around. See what wasn’t enough that somehow just made it. For eight crazy nights we are so increased. Now I see. Thank you for your patience with my faith. I’m a work in progress and seeing the miracles. That miracle is you. Happy Hanukkah my beloved. Editors note: as usual, while blogging I did extensive research to make sure my flow was correct. The article I was tempted to swipe a menorah graphic from use the word “Maccabeans”. There are no “Maccabeans”. The only “Maccabeans” that exist are in someone’s article online about Hanukah. That’s it. I’m sad to see a reporter for and Israel segment not know what a Maccabee is. Please, if you do your research on Hanukah, please select more than pretty graphics. As usual, my advice to my readers is “Question everything. Test for yourself.”
"Getting fired from a bakery was the best thing that ever happened to my baking career"When I first got fired from the bakery I was really hurt. I was in the midst of my training and was on a fantastic upswing in my baking career. I was expressing an artistic vein I discovered within myself and was exploring to the maximum. I was in the peak of my training. I had talent, it was apparent and I couldn’t fathom why the bakery I worked for couldn’t see my gift. It was the best thing that could have happened in my baking career. I’m glad they fired me. I don’t even feel bad that I was hurt by what they did to me. I’m proud of what I did next, how I handled myself and where it brought me. Getting fired from corporate baking forced me to get real about my craft. It forced me to trust myself. It also lifted the restrictions on what I could and could not create with my own time. It also increased my wage. Significantly. I am no longer a production line baker worth a paltry $11 an hour. I’m not saying I make more money than I did before, I don’t. But what I traded in a corporate paycheck I earned in creative freedom. My quality of life has not changed. I still live the same comfortable life I’ve always lived. I also still get to bake cookies, cakes, brownies and other fine treats but this time, nobody gets to come along and criticize my work. Truly. I do not even allow customers to be critics. It has improved my relationships with my customers and my friends. Now, I don’t have to answer to anyone but myself. When a mistake is made, it’s mine. There is no buck to pass. And if a thing is not good, made to order or you are not satisfied, I failed. I won’t be giving money back unless we agree that is what is best. I won’t be making another until you tell me that is what is needed to make things right. It’s relationships before dollars, people before products. It has also improved my health. Choosing the ingredients, picking the quality, health and even safety of my ingredients gives me greater control over my own diet. When I worked in corporate bakery I ballooned to over 240 lbs. I was gorgeous! But I was so unhealthy. Now, we collect the eggs from our own farm and bake those into all our fine goods. We also reduced the sugar in our biscuit (cookie) and topped the biscuit with sugar art. The bonus… you can crack off the sugar art and skip the sugar and just eat the delicious biscuit. This time around, my weight has stabilized. I’ve been watching myself much more carefully in my own bakery and I am not sneaking any unauthorized samples this go around. My bakery, my customers, my problems, my opportunities. One of the craziest reasons I was fired from the grocery store bakery had to do with opportunities. With any good baker, there is bound to be crossover. Bakers are often followed around like the dead. I still have customers from when I baked in Elkton, MD. A good baker is on the level of hair stylist. With that, I had people come see me at work that knew me from the ministry. I also had people call me outside of the bakery for work that the bakery did not do. I did this. I continued baking as opportunities came and never said “no” to a job. Even if I had never done it before and didn’t know how. I operated under the guise of “it’s all training” and “you have to do everything you’ll be called to do for the first time at least once.” I never had to fake it. I just had to show up and do what I was really good at. You can’t do that if you say “no”. The corporate world has a real problem with individuality and creativity. Standing out from the herd, not complying with the norm, bucking the system and going against the grain are not endearing qualities when “dronism” is what is expected, nay demanded of the public workforce. Ultimately I stood out. I did not conform. I went solidly against the grain by not complying and I completely bucked the system by advertising my skillset while corporately employed. And once I was injured on the job my individualism stuck out like a sore thumb and soon my “secret” was discovered. That is not to say that every other baker employed by the company was also doing the same thing I was. The difference was, I stuck out. And once that happened and they began to nitpick, scrutinize and blame until I grew a bright red target on my back. The target wouldn’t stay on my back. I would pin it solidly to the front of my new district manager’s face which would seal my fate within the store. I gained much working there. It truly was a time of great learning. I simply did not allow myself to be someone’s punching bag or toy. I left with my integrity intact and my customer base solid. I could always take my skills forward into the future, into the now and use them in beautiful ways. The beautiful part is, there is no bullying here. There is no formal dress code other than to be clean and sanitary. We get to listen to music, watch movies and do a lot of laughing while baking here. And we can whistle. Whistling is the sign of a contented soul. I whistle a lot.
The conversation about homelessness is often that one that leaves me gobsmacked and speechless. Everyday I see keyboard warriors, safe and warm inside their cozy abodes make blanket statements about what it means to be homeless. Writers who have never experienced a cold night away from home, struggling to figure out where the next dollar and where the next meal will come from. Critics of homelessness who smugly besmirch those less fortunate than themselves with comments such as “people don’t appreciate what’s given to them”. All I have to say is, “karma is a bitch and I’m Neo ducking karma’s slap”.
I’ve been homeless. Houseless, abodeless and wandered from room to room until landing on my feet. My case wasn’t horrific or drastic. It was actually pretty smooth. It also didn’t last very long. That doesn’t mean that I didn’t suffer in some way from my experience. I was truly at peace with the suffering in the moment because I was alive. I endeavored to show appreciation for all that was done for me by very generous individuals who lifted me out of my plight. I was in a headspace to be so appreciative. Let me be clear, not all who are homeless are capable of the things the wealthy and entitled demand. If you’re warm, you’re wealthy. If you have a computer and access to the internet you are entitled. Your voice is not silent, you are being heard. And I heard you. Your callousness to the plight of the suffering is grossly indicative of what’s wrong with our society. To look at the suffering and to want to penalize them further for suffering within your line of vision is repugnant. To demand appreciation from those suffering the worst of fates is the height of haughtiness. From one formerly homeless person to the big bad wealthy entitled internet I say “shut up”. Shut up until you’ve walked five minutes in homeless shoes. Shut up and open your wallet until you find yourself without a place to call “home”. Shut up until you’ve had to worry about how you’ll stay warm, how you’ll stay fed and how you’ll afford anything. Shut up. It is no longer your turn to talk. We have listened to your gluttonous mouth far longer than was necessary for politeness sake. Your comments about not receiving appreciation for those least fortunate smacks of how arrogant you truly are. Are you this arrogant in your day to conversations with your cashier? Your server? Your mail carrier? Shut up. You sound like a terrible person. I hope I never meet you. It feels like a million things happened this week while I served my time. The coolest thing that happened were the orders that came in. While true I had primarily built the business exposure there, I had also explored other platforms and lovingly kept in touch with all my friends. Some people turn friends into customers, but I turn strangers into customers/friends and all the lines are completely shattered. An ad campaign I wrote and launched a year ago was still paying in sales. Someone who saw my ads locally last year called me this year in hope I'd still be doing that thing. I was! I have no regrets over my time served. I know I'm not the only one serving this time. It's visible if you look. I'm thankful for this time apart, away and in search of myself once more. I get lost in the shuffle of it all and I confess that while building the farm with Paul and Chris, I lost myself. I do not fault the powers that be, I only press that they change. Change their ways of administering "punitive" actions on the general populace that looks to you for leadership. If you are socially responsible for a platform that allows people to connect in every way possible and then suddenly you take that away, you're behaving like a god. And let me be clear. You are not my god. Nobody is allowed to exercise that kind of power of me. Nobody.
It looks like you’ve found me. Only those truly fucking off can find this. I’ve decided not to share links with you. I want you to find this page, but I don’t want to be so bold as to hand you the link. I know it’s madness to operate on such a goofy level. I know you pretty good though and I’m confident you’ll find me. But only when you’re fucking off. So you fucked off and found me.
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AuthorMarihemp is presently owner/baker/farmer at Cloverleaf Farms in Door County, Wisconsin. Archives
January 2023
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