Compassionate capitalism: Giardiniera corp. vs healthcare corp. edition

Today, I received a massive crate of Marconi Giardiniera (please
forgive me if I misspell that word repeatedly it’s just that this has always been a hard word for me to spell correctly and also I’m still only at about 70% of my eyeball capacity, post eyeball surgery, which was like 75% — with glasses — before the eyeball surgery. Without glasses, I would just be a blind woman who is able to sort of make out shapes and colors, but sees the world as basically a blur of color and light.)

The package was very heavy and it sat on my counter
for a bit before I opened the box as I was busy fighting
with the American Healthcare Industrial Complex
for my life-saving meds. When I finally paid the package attention,
I thought, “Kind of over-the-top for mom to send me a whole case of Marconi, but that’s cool.”
(See, I’m from Chicagoland. I need Marconi Giardiniera
on pretty much all foods — maybe not ice cream — and
they just don’t carry Marconi out here in Tucsonland.
And for Chicago Gruber it cannot be “any Giardiniera”;
it must be Marconi.

So I open the package,
and am astonished and delighted
to find Marconi products
beyond my wildest imagination
(they make SALAD DRESSING).
And I know I sound like I’m plugging
Marconi products, but I kind of am because
the Marconi family sent me the package.
Like the family that owns the company.

There were tears. Seriously.

What I’m saying is that if you like Giardiniera,
please support Marconi out of Des Plaines, IL
because they are 1) makers of the best Chicago-style Giardiniera
and 2) operating from a place of compassionate capitalism.
I usually don’t like capitalism,
but when it’s good, when it does good by its customers
— not out of fear, not out of being threatened, not out of being challenged — just because they can. (So often, corporate interests — that is to say largely white, male interests —are “mean because they can.” But what if all the corporations behaved more like Marconi, and were “nice because they can.” And I don’t know about you, reader, but if I have to live
in a capitalist country, I want companies
to have a little
basic human compassion. The best companies,
like Marconi,
have compassion and then some. (I also believe
this is key to Apple’s success as a business. Seriously.
I have an abundance of theories.
This is why, I cannot sleep. I no longer drink.
Drinking was the only thing that could turn off
my very active little brain.

Behold, a cornucopia of Marconi products upon which I shall feast. Nothing says “compassion,” to Chicago Gruber, like garnishes.

Seriously, if NAH had shown me
a fraction of the care and compassion
that a Giardiniera company
in Des Plaines,IL showed me today,
I’d be telling a very different story
about their organization.
I’d be telling you to go get help at NAH,
instead of telling you (and I am telling you this),
if you have cancer and have many other options,
I would not recommend NAH. If you have cancer
and have few or no options outside of NAH,
hit me up and I’ll give you the “who’s good”
of the crazy cancer care
that place has pieced together
for sad sacks like me.

Actually, when I was brushing my teeth tonight, I was thinking how a “van by a river” doesn’t sound so bad at all. Sounds kind of peaceful, actually.

So I accepted a new position today.
More details about that
after all the paperwork has been finalized.

I’m excited about the job because, most importantly,
I will continue to have writing and literature classrooms
full of adolescents and teenagers who, bafflingly,
hold this really special place in my heart, yo.

This character is the voice-in-my-head that “checks” me when I’m getting too sappy — which I am prone toward since I got off the sauce.

And also, the job is in Tucson
which is good because
I really feel like after
I go up the mountain
— in a week or so —
to officially part ways with FALA and Flagstaff,
I’m really going to need some space
from both places,
if you catch my drift.
Don’t get me wrong,
so much magic happened for me in Flagstaff
(and is still happening), but some real dark,
traumatizing shit happened up there, too,
and it will be good for me to have space
to process that. (Now I’m just straight up
talking like a lesbian of-a-certain-age: “processing”
“space,” “needs”
“boundaries”
“health.”)

It makes no sense, I said to Sarah tonight.
I wanted to be a college professor not this.

In fact, when Sarah and I first were a courtin’,
we talked at length about Mr. Holland’s Opus
being a straight up horror fucking movie.
And now? My life is taking on a Mr. Hollandy shape,
but with one very important distinction: I am not Mr. Holland.
I am Gruber.

And I do know, on some primal, gut level
why I love working with
adolescents and teenagers: I think, most of the time,
I get them. Because right around the age of 19
my normal social-emotional forward development ground to,
not a stop, but certainly
a limp in a slow, swerving, but nevertheless forward
direction leading me all the way to where I am right now.
The view — today — is pretty swell.