Allowance(s)~

Anybody remember allowances from growing up? I remember my friends having them...a certain amount of money *usually pretty modest* that their parents would allocate to them each week. Usually it involved an exchange of the green in return for domestic chores, or helping out in a number of ways. My friends would mostly use their funds for going to the movies, or clothes, or (once we hit middle school) “hot” dates ;) And man, those bowling alleys and arcades were off the hook! We were so cool...swingin' hipsters, I tell you~

As for me, I do not remember an allowance. I do recall regarding the concept of them as being a bit foreign. Even the name, "allowance" carries such a loaded and strange connotation to it. In my home, my sisters and I were simply expected to help around the house as members of the family. The thought of getting otherwise rewarded (besides a deeply felt "thank you!" from my amazing momasita) was equally as alien. If I wanted money for spending or something extra....(say...like perhaps meeting that smokin' boy at the mall and cruising around all TWO of the shops until our moms came to get us in the matching mini vans...around 9pm...* live it up!*) then I babysat, or found other odd jobs apart from regular washing of the dishes and keeping our family home clean. The funniest thing is that I don't remember being annoyed by this fact that I had no allowance. I felt it was not "owed" to me simply for helping my mom out around the house, and for being a contributing member of the family—pitching in wherever was needed.

Today I am thinking of adult allowance(s). I see many of them...but as adults we are no longer supplied by our parents, and it seems to be of a much different, and less tangible, genre of "green." As a (ahem) grown up, I feel I receive an allowance (of sorts) everyday...from the world. I see this presenting itself in various forms---as love, acceptance, encouragement, and affirmation, etc…

I also, at the ripe old age of 28, am looking at this allowance...of love, of acceptance, of encouragement, of affirmation...and beginning to ask myself...what is expected of me to earn such a sum this week? Is there a list someone could please post on the fridge? (You know, the kind with small checkboxes perhaps? Or a honeydew melon graphic on the top--sous smiley-faced green gourd attached?) No? Well that would be too simple and straightforward, then, wouldn’t it?

In our world, I wonder what the “acceptable” labor and toil required of me is/ would be….and I wonder if I secretly deep down feel the need to “earn” my allowance…or even worse, if I walk around with an attitude of being “owed” (and hence, demanding of the world) this allotment. Either attitude, I have a sneaking feeling, will get me a pittance (and a begrudging one at that).

So, I’ve a mind to do away with this whole allowance business! I believe it best if I follow the practice of my youth. I will have a deep awareness that (although most definitely worthy of provision and goodness) I am not “owed” anything by anyone. I will simply throw my full efforts into claiming my role as an integral and contributing (without reservation—or expectation) member of this non-biological brotherhood I satellite around daily. In turn, I will not feel this need to “earn” anything—for there will be no formal offering of payment.

It will be as before…my needs will be met…all that is required to sustain comes for those that are family…ohana…and who live, and move, and have their being as an integral piece of the whole. Seeking the “green” now takes on a whole new meaning:

G-rowth

R-efreshment

E-ncouragement

E-nrichment

N-ewness~

May we all have more than enough green to sustain us—never feeling owed—never having to earn—but rather stepping up, and serving up…as siblings~

~Sound (Affects)~

Airports. Microscopic blinks. Brief, concentrated glimpses of this macroscopic world, and all those inhabiting it. I have always found them to be fascinating on so many levels. From fashion to finances, being a spectator as the spectrum of humanity colors my scope of sight, is such an eye-opening experience.

In fashion-forward Europe, where couture is king, it is not surprising that I would gravitate first to clothing commentary. Today, some people dressed for style (from 8 inch high stiletto heels and skinny jeans, to thigh high boots and barely-there mini skirts; fashion is always a factor here in Barcelona). Other people (such as myself) dressed more for *coughs* ...."comfort." (Yes, I assure you, I strategically planned this outfit--fully aware that I am in the mecca of mod). These jeans, sneakers and tee shirt are going to serve me well, and allow me the luxury of breathing, thank you very much...(and yes, they also just may announce to the entire European airport: "American tourist! American tourist!" )

Closing the fashion file, I make my way up the terminal stairs, surveying the crowd en route. Those who seem in a hurry (or perhaps just were inspired by a secret, undying affection for aerobic idol Richard Simmons and his sweatin' to the Oldies self) took the steps. Those who opted for the escalator, I noted, could be grouped into two major categories:

1) Those who were in a hurry, yet too lazy to take matters completely into their own hands (or feet?) and actually climb...they rather more were half-a**ing is, while hemming and hawing at the second group...

2) Yes, group number two...those poor, innocent bystanders who alighted the escalator fully secure in (and resolved to maintain) their stationary states. The longer I watched this parody of Truman-show transit, I realized that there actually kind of was a non-verbal (yet understood) "protocol" to this processional. Basically, if you weren't going to move your rump, you had better GET RIGHT!

Once I recognized this pattern, I decided to post myself off to the side and "Charles Darwin" it for a bit. For a good twenty minutes (seriously), I entertained myself with the emotional outbursts of "inconvenienced" travelers as the rump-resters refused to stay right, or * heaven forbid * absent-mindedly allowed any portion of their person to remotely venture into the left-hand lane. *Hem!**Haw!**Hurrumph!**Wheeze!**WAIL!** (and, yes, there actually was at least one distinct and gutteral wail). Sound effects make everything better, do they not? ;)

Finally tearing myself away from this asthmatic display of ire, I headed to find something to drink. As I was standing in line at the airport cafe, I noticed a striking difference in how much people were spending. I saw parents buying children 10 Euro grilled cheese sandwiches that would most definitely remain half-eaten (or find their way, in short order, to their final resting places on the sticky terminal floor). Others (like myself) were notably (not necessarily by choice, mind you!) more "frugal" with their funds. As I got to the cashier and reached into my purse, raising, with trembling fingers, the whopping 5.95 Euros to meet her open fist...I willed myself to NOT calculate exactly how much that worked out to be in American dollars. Sheesh....She smiled with me (okay, maybe she was actually more like laughing AT me)...but she "got it." As in, she knew exactly that I was thinking: "This better be some DAMN GOOD Arizona Green Tea!"

And here I sit, waiting for my plane to board...and sipping my 6 Euro Arizona Green Tea. I am present...soaking it all in...surrounded by style, spendthrifts, and yes, sound effects~