Thursday, July 9, 2009

What's In A Name?

Everything has a beginning and if you're reading this, you're sure to be wondering how I decided to begin with this.  Where do I begin?  I'm a rambler so stay with me.

I finally decided to join the world of the blog.  It's a big step for me, a self-proclaimed conspiracy-theorist.  Do I really want to put myself on the map?  I've made a lot of decisions in my life based on not wanting to be that identifiable.  I have no unusual piercings, no tattoos, no vanity plates or bumper stickers on my car.  I'm identifiable enough with the state issued license plates, federally issued ID numbers, and the usual descriptors.  Yet I finally decided now was the time to show up, and the map is where one needs to be to make a difference.  I do believe change is needed.  Politcal change.  A change of heart.  A change of direction.  It's time to speak up and to express myself.  I apparently have a lot of ground to cover so I'd better get going.

What will I name my blog?  What's available?  What's searchable?  All this goes through my head as I started to brainstorm a name.  I'm new at blogging.  I'm new at being a mom.  I don't have a lot of time or energy or experience, so I'll need to start small.  One blog.  A free venue.  And so I found myself on Blogspot, a venue my friends use, and I started looking up blogs to see if I'd stumble across one not being used that I liked.  After failing with a few cliched phrases, I realized I needed to use something unique. (duh).  I went through journal entries and fond memories until I remembered Gramma's garbage soup.  

The story my cousins and I were told as children was that Gramma and Grampa were so poor they would send their children out into the streets to scour dumpsters for scraps to make a soup with, and that's why they called it Garbage Soup.  This was, as I said, a story.  Our grandparents were working-class people struggling to make ends meet like rest of their neighborhood, but they never resorted to dumpster diving to put dinner on the table.  Nevertheless, this story amused them, as our eyes grew big and we all considered turning our noses up at our bowl of Garbage Soup.  If only it didn't smell so darned good.  And it always tasted even better.  

Gramma was a good cook, and garbage soup was a family favorite.  In reality garbage soup was a chicken soup that Gramma would fill with whatever yummy leftovers or "garbage" was in the fridge.  The last of the pastina or rice or noodles and a mix of leftover vegetables along with a generous touch of Gramma magic to bring it all together, which is why none of us kids could recreate it even if we tried.  Thankfully Gramma will still make it for us from time to time so we don't need to.

And now you know that much more about me.  And we've only just begun.

As I said before I have a lot to say, and even more on my mind.  My life needs direction, energy, and focus; and I feel like this country desperately needs direction, new energy and renewed focus.  What a mess this all is.  A proverbial soup of garbage.  And so Garbage Soup is born.  I can only hope we can give it that touch of magic and make it come out as delectable as Gramma's version.  This post marks my first step towards doing just that.

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