So I was at the heart clinic the other day. Wasn’t looking forward to going. Not at all. You see, I was supposed to be tested for sleep apnea in July. That was the month I lost my health insurance. We couldn’t afford to pay for the test, so I canceled it. Then, also in July, I was supposed to return to the regular clinic and have my blood retested for the doctor treating my diabetes. Couldn’t afford that either. Didn’t go. In November I was scheduled to have another echogram on my heart. Well, last year I had insurance – and it refused to pay. Took us ten months to pay it off. That, and the monthly premium for the insurance that wouldn’t cover it, contributed mightily to our losing the house this year. In any case, I canceled the echogram.
I was going to cancel the doctor visit, too, but Spouse insisted. Of course, Spouse insisted I keep the insurance – which paid for some of the cost of prescriptions. But I went.
I didn’t get yelled at like I always do about sleep apnea. It came out early on that we had lost the house and I no longer had insurance. But I felt no better leaving than I did arriving. Actually, I felt a bit worse. You see, he just confirmed what I have always suspected to be true: it’s all my fault.
Why is it all my fault? Because – I’m fat.
All of my problems are a result of being fat. If I wasn’t fat I wouldn’t have lost my job. If I wasn’t fat I could get a new job. If I wasn’t fat I wouldn’t nearly die every time I climb up those effing stairs to get to the apartment. If I wasn’t fat I would fee good about myself. If I wasn’t fat I wouldn’t have lost my house. If I wasn’t fat the weather would be nice. If I wasn’t fat the economy wouldn’t have gone into the toilet. If I wasn’t fat we could have found a cure for diabetes, aides, leukemia, and who knows how many other diseases? If I wasn’t fat there wouldn’t be war in Afghanistan and Iraq.
So much misery. Just because I’m fat.
Well, so much for the bad news. I’m fat.
The good news is that I’m intelligent.
Now I didn’t argue this point at the time. What would be the point? But let’s consider the facts as they were presented to me.
1. All of my misery is a direct result of my being fat
2. Only I can change my being fat into my being thin
3. I know, and have known, this for a long time
4. I am still fat, despite knowing all of this
Pardon my wondering, but where is the intelligence in that equation?
You see, there is a fundamental problem with thin people looking at fat people and thinking, “If they really wanted to be thin they could.”
At some level that is absolutely true. But only at some level. There are a host of other levels which come into play and CANNOT be ignored. Self-esteem is major contributor to the equation.
People think fat people are unhappy because they’re fat, and if they would simply stop being fat they would be happy. In some cases that is completely true. But not in every case. Some people are not unhappy because they’re fat. They’re fat because they’re unhappy. And simply changing their weight is NOT going to change their mood. Why? Because their mood is not based on their weight. Their weight is based on their mood.
The reasons why anybody has low self-esteem are complex and varied. To a point everyone has to deal with it. Nobody is liked by everybody, and nobody is great at everything. But some of us happen to be a bit more gullible about some things than others.
To be told by one’s mother that one is hated, useless, disgusting, and never should have been born in the first place, all while being struck with whatever weapon was handy, affects one’s self-esteem. Should one grow up and get over it? Yes. One should. One should do a lot of things. But when such beatings, physical and verbal, occur regularly, and one accepts the truth of the words being inflicted, it’s hard. I’m sorry. It just is.
And when others reinforce the words with words of their own. The boy who was friendly simply to get one in range of the rock he was holding. Would be friends and lovers who saw one had something, and once they had got what they wanted no longer needed one, and so no longer behaved as friends. All of these things make a difference.
Should they? I guess not. And according to what I am told, strong people, smart people, good people, overcome these things.
Well, I guess I am not strong. I am not smart. And I am not good. So what am I?
I am fat.
And until that changes I will be miserable. Never mind that I have been fat for less than half my life. And never mind that I was miserable before I was fat. If I would just lose the weight I need to lose I could return to what I was before I was fat. Miserable.
Where’s my motivation?
Showing posts with label Venting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Venting. Show all posts
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Saturday, August 1, 2009
I'm Tall - But Time is Short
Unless something extraordinary occurs, we have today and eight others remaining in this house. Then we're out. Forever. The demise will have entered its next phase.
I would like to say the downward trend has been stopped, if not reversed, but that would not be true. We've just lost our current place to stay. Estimates are we will have four months at the apartment/flat. Then we lose that. Where we go then I don't know.
Was at the digestive doctor this past week. He's a very nice man. Been going to him since the early 1990s. He gives me free medicine. It only lasts a few weeks, but hey, that's like putting money in my pocket.
Generally, he's an upbeat kind of person, but this time he was low. You see, I'm not his only patient who has crumbled under the current economic collapse. He has dozens of them. Literally. And because there are so many people he knows personally who are in trouble, he favors the current health care reforms being proposed in Washington. I didn't go into details with him about them. I'm not sure I am.
It's not that I don't acknowledge the current system of health care in the United States s*cks so bad it's nearly incomprehensible as it is I just don't trust anyone to do it right. I don't trust politicians and I don't trust insurance carriers. I would trust the doctors and nurses, but they have no real power to make decisions. They can treat patients, but only within the limits set by government, insurance, and administrators.
The concept of requiring people to buy health insurance bothers me. People like me just cannot afford it. So what will government do when we don't buy it? Fine us. Brilliant thinking. Like the banks who punish people who can't afford to pay credit card bills. They raise the interest rate, thereby increasing the payments. It's just another way to torture the poor and say it's their own fault.
The theory is that for those who cannot really afford to pay for health care, subsidies will be provided. Right. I know what kind of health care that is. I've got it now. I simply don't believe in it. It will not work, but it will make a lot of people feel self-satisfied that they did something and now don't have to do anything else.
My attitude is you don't have to do anything anyway. Just leave us the h*ll alone. Life's bad enough without you a*sholes making it worse with laws that serve you and not us.
People with money b*itch and complain how people like me cost them so much money with our poor health and no health insurance. Bullsh*t! The free medicine my doctor gives me? The pharmaceutical companies get huge tax write-offs for donating the medicine. It says right on the package it cannot be sold. That it's solely for doctors to give away. And doctors don't just give it away to the poor. Back when I had money and insurance and all kinds of good things I still got free medicine every time I saw this doctor. My being poor and not having insurance did not change anything.
The insurance I "enjoyed" over the past year served two purposes: it paid a good portion of my medicine, and it was there should I have been hospitalized. But the co-pays were so high I still could not have procedures done which my doctors were demanding. I had no money to pay my portion. And so I had no procedures.
The lie is purported that people like me go to the doctor anyway and don't pay. That's a lie! The truth is, we don't go to the doctor when we can't pay. Yes, we get worse. And then we don't go to the doctor because we can't afford that. I went this time because I needed a new prescription. Don't know what it cost me, but the plan is to use some of our housing money to pay for it.
I went two years with four broken teeth because I had no insurance or money to get them fixed. When I got insurance I went. Higher insurance premiums for everyone else? Why? Turns out insurance hardly covered anything at all and I wound up spending the entire spring tax return on my teeth. Bad insurance does not save poor people anything. It gives them a false sense of hope which is dashed when they get their bill.
Life in America is about money. If you have it, you will do well. If you don't, you become a tool for the Democrats and a burden to Republicans. I resent being a tool, but it is the Republicans who truly offend me. They claim they are "God's party" because they are anti-abortion. But this is what God says "his people", regardless of race, creed, or religion, are like:
But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such there is no law.
That is from Galatians, chapter five. Be honest now. Does any of that remind you of Republicans, or Democrats, or any other political group? It doesn't me. I see none of that in the Republican Party. They show hate, anger, strife, impatience, meanness, cruelty, disloyalty, harshness, reckless abandon. And all they want are more laws.
They're certainly not god-like. Which leaves who to resemble?
No matter. In just over a week I enter the next phase of my demise.
I would like to say the downward trend has been stopped, if not reversed, but that would not be true. We've just lost our current place to stay. Estimates are we will have four months at the apartment/flat. Then we lose that. Where we go then I don't know.
Was at the digestive doctor this past week. He's a very nice man. Been going to him since the early 1990s. He gives me free medicine. It only lasts a few weeks, but hey, that's like putting money in my pocket.
Generally, he's an upbeat kind of person, but this time he was low. You see, I'm not his only patient who has crumbled under the current economic collapse. He has dozens of them. Literally. And because there are so many people he knows personally who are in trouble, he favors the current health care reforms being proposed in Washington. I didn't go into details with him about them. I'm not sure I am.
It's not that I don't acknowledge the current system of health care in the United States s*cks so bad it's nearly incomprehensible as it is I just don't trust anyone to do it right. I don't trust politicians and I don't trust insurance carriers. I would trust the doctors and nurses, but they have no real power to make decisions. They can treat patients, but only within the limits set by government, insurance, and administrators.
The concept of requiring people to buy health insurance bothers me. People like me just cannot afford it. So what will government do when we don't buy it? Fine us. Brilliant thinking. Like the banks who punish people who can't afford to pay credit card bills. They raise the interest rate, thereby increasing the payments. It's just another way to torture the poor and say it's their own fault.
The theory is that for those who cannot really afford to pay for health care, subsidies will be provided. Right. I know what kind of health care that is. I've got it now. I simply don't believe in it. It will not work, but it will make a lot of people feel self-satisfied that they did something and now don't have to do anything else.
My attitude is you don't have to do anything anyway. Just leave us the h*ll alone. Life's bad enough without you a*sholes making it worse with laws that serve you and not us.
People with money b*itch and complain how people like me cost them so much money with our poor health and no health insurance. Bullsh*t! The free medicine my doctor gives me? The pharmaceutical companies get huge tax write-offs for donating the medicine. It says right on the package it cannot be sold. That it's solely for doctors to give away. And doctors don't just give it away to the poor. Back when I had money and insurance and all kinds of good things I still got free medicine every time I saw this doctor. My being poor and not having insurance did not change anything.
The insurance I "enjoyed" over the past year served two purposes: it paid a good portion of my medicine, and it was there should I have been hospitalized. But the co-pays were so high I still could not have procedures done which my doctors were demanding. I had no money to pay my portion. And so I had no procedures.
The lie is purported that people like me go to the doctor anyway and don't pay. That's a lie! The truth is, we don't go to the doctor when we can't pay. Yes, we get worse. And then we don't go to the doctor because we can't afford that. I went this time because I needed a new prescription. Don't know what it cost me, but the plan is to use some of our housing money to pay for it.
I went two years with four broken teeth because I had no insurance or money to get them fixed. When I got insurance I went. Higher insurance premiums for everyone else? Why? Turns out insurance hardly covered anything at all and I wound up spending the entire spring tax return on my teeth. Bad insurance does not save poor people anything. It gives them a false sense of hope which is dashed when they get their bill.
Life in America is about money. If you have it, you will do well. If you don't, you become a tool for the Democrats and a burden to Republicans. I resent being a tool, but it is the Republicans who truly offend me. They claim they are "God's party" because they are anti-abortion. But this is what God says "his people", regardless of race, creed, or religion, are like:
But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such there is no law.
That is from Galatians, chapter five. Be honest now. Does any of that remind you of Republicans, or Democrats, or any other political group? It doesn't me. I see none of that in the Republican Party. They show hate, anger, strife, impatience, meanness, cruelty, disloyalty, harshness, reckless abandon. And all they want are more laws.
They're certainly not god-like. Which leaves who to resemble?
No matter. In just over a week I enter the next phase of my demise.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
A Form of Charity - But Without the Power Thereof
My sister and mother were by to visit on Saturday. Judayl needed to bring home her things which failed to sell at the garage sale back in June. They stayed for three or four hours and we had cookout on the grill with a Jello-Cool Whip dessert.
As is usual with my family our conversation spanned a variety of topics, from politics to family history to driving. During our varied talks Mother mentioned Daddy's attitude toward saving lots of money: he saw no point in it. Probably because he had grown up poor and mistreated during the Great Depression. He saw how little a person could have. Of course, that doesn't make things easy. But I guess he used to say, "What's the point of saving all that money? If disaster occurs, you've never saved enough, and no one will help you until it is all gone anyway."
I think he was right about that. Mother related how she and Daddy had watched a fairly well-off family lose their farm when their little girl took very sick. No help came forth until they were completely broke. But being broke doesn't always mean one gets help - even from those government agencies created to help people who really do need help.
One of Mother's friends, an elderly woman in her late 80s, has developed MS. She's bruised all over from falling down all the time. Once she lay on the floor for two hours until someone chanced by and heard her calling for help. She has no family nearby so she applied at the state for assisted living. She was turned down. Told she wasn't sick enough.
A friend of my sisters has a baby daughter, less than two years old. She has a rare condition of elephantitus in which only half of her body is swelling. This includes internal organs. Her throat is damaged from acid reflux because her esophagus is not uniform. The family has spent thousands upon thousands of dollars of their own money (after insurance) to keep her alive. They also went to the state seeking some kind of assistance. They were turned down. Turns out baby just isn't sick enough.
Spouse and I have gone through something similar, although not so dire. Having seen our family income drop 80%, we often find it difficult to make ends meet. (Hence, the foreclosure on the house.) Spouse has applied - more than once - to state and county agencies for help regarding health insurance, utility bills, and refinancing the house. Every time we applied the response was the same: You make too much money for us to help you.
That's fine. Except I don't think it's the truth. Why do I think it's a lie? Because the specific thing we are told is exactly the same every time Spouse has applied. "You make $500 a month too much."
Well and good. Except how can we be making $500 a month too much when that was how much too much we made the last time we applied and our income has gone down? Regarding health insurance, it got so bad with the county that we could not qualify for assistance with health insurance unless we made less than $6,000 in a year. That's insane! Three people living on $6,000 in a year? I don't think so. But the truth is, we don't earn that much more anyway.
It seems clear to me that we were turned down for some other reason and that "you make too much money" is the standard rejection. Probably the same is true for health things, which is why the senior woman and the baby were said to "not be sick enough".
And it's not like nobody is getting any help. There are people who earn more than we do who are getting state and/or county assisted health insurance. Why? How? When we asked them we got uncomfortable looks and incoherent mumbling. We are left to guess, and my guess is that perhaps they have not been entirely truthful in their paperwork. Not that I blame them. Our entire society is geared to encourage lies. Lies are rewarded - even when everyone knows it is a lie. The more we tell the truth the more we are punished for it.
Americans do not like the truth. When the truth is bad, we surround it with disinformation, as it is called. Putting it plainly, we lie. That's what Washington is all about. Lies. Half-lies. Three-quarter lies. It's amazing that people survive being there. But it filters down into all aspects of our society.
For myself, I don't really mind being turned down by the agencies my past tax money went to create. What bugs me is being told something so completely ridiculous as an excuse. I would much rather just be told the truth: You're too old; You're fat; You're ugly; You're black; You're white; You're a Democrat; You're a Republican; You're Independent. Just tell me the frikkin' truth. I can't afford a lawyer, so I'm certainly not going to sue. I didn't sue the idiot who told me to my face I was too old to send to a job interview. (Why bother?)
It's like the guy from the bank talking with Spouse last fall. "Well, we'll be happy to help you renegotiate your monthly payment - as soon as you make more money than you spend." Spouse responded with, "If we made more money than we spend we wouldn't need help."
But that is also the American way: Help those who need it least. Not that I necessarily mind anyone getting help. Just stop giving me a*sinine reasons why I don't qualify.
As is usual with my family our conversation spanned a variety of topics, from politics to family history to driving. During our varied talks Mother mentioned Daddy's attitude toward saving lots of money: he saw no point in it. Probably because he had grown up poor and mistreated during the Great Depression. He saw how little a person could have. Of course, that doesn't make things easy. But I guess he used to say, "What's the point of saving all that money? If disaster occurs, you've never saved enough, and no one will help you until it is all gone anyway."
I think he was right about that. Mother related how she and Daddy had watched a fairly well-off family lose their farm when their little girl took very sick. No help came forth until they were completely broke. But being broke doesn't always mean one gets help - even from those government agencies created to help people who really do need help.
One of Mother's friends, an elderly woman in her late 80s, has developed MS. She's bruised all over from falling down all the time. Once she lay on the floor for two hours until someone chanced by and heard her calling for help. She has no family nearby so she applied at the state for assisted living. She was turned down. Told she wasn't sick enough.
A friend of my sisters has a baby daughter, less than two years old. She has a rare condition of elephantitus in which only half of her body is swelling. This includes internal organs. Her throat is damaged from acid reflux because her esophagus is not uniform. The family has spent thousands upon thousands of dollars of their own money (after insurance) to keep her alive. They also went to the state seeking some kind of assistance. They were turned down. Turns out baby just isn't sick enough.
Spouse and I have gone through something similar, although not so dire. Having seen our family income drop 80%, we often find it difficult to make ends meet. (Hence, the foreclosure on the house.) Spouse has applied - more than once - to state and county agencies for help regarding health insurance, utility bills, and refinancing the house. Every time we applied the response was the same: You make too much money for us to help you.
That's fine. Except I don't think it's the truth. Why do I think it's a lie? Because the specific thing we are told is exactly the same every time Spouse has applied. "You make $500 a month too much."
Well and good. Except how can we be making $500 a month too much when that was how much too much we made the last time we applied and our income has gone down? Regarding health insurance, it got so bad with the county that we could not qualify for assistance with health insurance unless we made less than $6,000 in a year. That's insane! Three people living on $6,000 in a year? I don't think so. But the truth is, we don't earn that much more anyway.
It seems clear to me that we were turned down for some other reason and that "you make too much money" is the standard rejection. Probably the same is true for health things, which is why the senior woman and the baby were said to "not be sick enough".
And it's not like nobody is getting any help. There are people who earn more than we do who are getting state and/or county assisted health insurance. Why? How? When we asked them we got uncomfortable looks and incoherent mumbling. We are left to guess, and my guess is that perhaps they have not been entirely truthful in their paperwork. Not that I blame them. Our entire society is geared to encourage lies. Lies are rewarded - even when everyone knows it is a lie. The more we tell the truth the more we are punished for it.
Americans do not like the truth. When the truth is bad, we surround it with disinformation, as it is called. Putting it plainly, we lie. That's what Washington is all about. Lies. Half-lies. Three-quarter lies. It's amazing that people survive being there. But it filters down into all aspects of our society.
For myself, I don't really mind being turned down by the agencies my past tax money went to create. What bugs me is being told something so completely ridiculous as an excuse. I would much rather just be told the truth: You're too old; You're fat; You're ugly; You're black; You're white; You're a Democrat; You're a Republican; You're Independent. Just tell me the frikkin' truth. I can't afford a lawyer, so I'm certainly not going to sue. I didn't sue the idiot who told me to my face I was too old to send to a job interview. (Why bother?)
It's like the guy from the bank talking with Spouse last fall. "Well, we'll be happy to help you renegotiate your monthly payment - as soon as you make more money than you spend." Spouse responded with, "If we made more money than we spend we wouldn't need help."
But that is also the American way: Help those who need it least. Not that I necessarily mind anyone getting help. Just stop giving me a*sinine reasons why I don't qualify.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
When Cruel and Stupid People are in Charge
So I'm supposed to go to the clinic this month and have my blood retested. There is a problem with that. Well, actually, two problems, but the one isn't that big of a deal.
The big problem is that they won't schedule a time. I'm just supposed to show up. Only I have to fast for twenty-four hours beforehand. The problem with not having an appointment is that I won't think about going twenty-four hours beforehand so I won't fast. So I can't go. The month's half over already, and the only time I think about it is when I'm eating. "Oh. Yeah. I need to fast so I can go get the blood work done. Tomorrow. Maybe."
The little prlblem is I don't have health insurance anymore. It came down to having insurance or a place to live, and a place to live won out. Not that we can really afford the place to live either, but one has to be some place. (I argued this point with Spouse a year ago, but lost out. Pity. The premiums meant several thousand dollars went down the toilet.)
Meanwhile, our brilliant (and greedy and completely clueless) government officials are trying to pass a law making it illegal to be poor. That's right. Those of us who cannot afford insurance will be fined the money we don't have to pay for the insurance. What will they do when we can't pay the fines? Throw us into prison? We've gone backward in time to the days of debtor prisons. At least then we'll have insurance. Pretty good insurance from what I've heard.
Yes, they say the government will subsidize the poor who can't afford it. Right. And you know what kind of insurance that will be? Basically, free clinic stuff. If only our people weren't such arrogant and proud a*sholes they could copy a program which actually works instead of trying to invent something new and ruining a lot of people's lives in the process.
I don't know how much I give a da*n anymore. They say I'm costing the rest of the country billions because I don't have insurance. How? And why am I not seeing any of this money? When there is no insurance to pay my medical bills, who pays? I do. Or, I just don't go (which is more likely). I went two years with three broken teeth because I didn't have dental insurance. I went four years without being checked for diabetes (which I have, by the way) because I couldn't afford it. When I told my diabetes doctor I was soon to lose my insurance he asked me how that would affect me. I told him. I would do what thousands upon thousands of people in my mother's generation are doing: decide between medicine and food. Food would probably win. He said doctors don't like to be told that. Well, I've got news for the doctors: The poor don't much care for having to make that decision. But it's life. And believe it or not, there are actually thousands upon thousands of people who would give anything if they could trade place with me. The son of the people across the street comitted suicide this spring. What do they care about money problems? At least I have my son.
But where is all of this money being spent by others because I don't go to the doctor, or buy my medicine? Lost time from work? Well, I've been dumped from every job I've had because I'm too old to have it anymore, or the greedy b*stards in the financial industry have forced the business to collapse. Yes, Madoff got 150 years. I saw where on the news. They report that it's like a college campus. Maybe I'll get lucky, too, and be sent there. I can room with Madoff.
Hi. My name's Bevie. What are you in for?
Stealing billions from the world and forcing an economic collapse that put millions out of work. And you?
Being poor.
You filthy scum.
The big problem is that they won't schedule a time. I'm just supposed to show up. Only I have to fast for twenty-four hours beforehand. The problem with not having an appointment is that I won't think about going twenty-four hours beforehand so I won't fast. So I can't go. The month's half over already, and the only time I think about it is when I'm eating. "Oh. Yeah. I need to fast so I can go get the blood work done. Tomorrow. Maybe."
The little prlblem is I don't have health insurance anymore. It came down to having insurance or a place to live, and a place to live won out. Not that we can really afford the place to live either, but one has to be some place. (I argued this point with Spouse a year ago, but lost out. Pity. The premiums meant several thousand dollars went down the toilet.)
Meanwhile, our brilliant (and greedy and completely clueless) government officials are trying to pass a law making it illegal to be poor. That's right. Those of us who cannot afford insurance will be fined the money we don't have to pay for the insurance. What will they do when we can't pay the fines? Throw us into prison? We've gone backward in time to the days of debtor prisons. At least then we'll have insurance. Pretty good insurance from what I've heard.
Yes, they say the government will subsidize the poor who can't afford it. Right. And you know what kind of insurance that will be? Basically, free clinic stuff. If only our people weren't such arrogant and proud a*sholes they could copy a program which actually works instead of trying to invent something new and ruining a lot of people's lives in the process.
I don't know how much I give a da*n anymore. They say I'm costing the rest of the country billions because I don't have insurance. How? And why am I not seeing any of this money? When there is no insurance to pay my medical bills, who pays? I do. Or, I just don't go (which is more likely). I went two years with three broken teeth because I didn't have dental insurance. I went four years without being checked for diabetes (which I have, by the way) because I couldn't afford it. When I told my diabetes doctor I was soon to lose my insurance he asked me how that would affect me. I told him. I would do what thousands upon thousands of people in my mother's generation are doing: decide between medicine and food. Food would probably win. He said doctors don't like to be told that. Well, I've got news for the doctors: The poor don't much care for having to make that decision. But it's life. And believe it or not, there are actually thousands upon thousands of people who would give anything if they could trade place with me. The son of the people across the street comitted suicide this spring. What do they care about money problems? At least I have my son.
But where is all of this money being spent by others because I don't go to the doctor, or buy my medicine? Lost time from work? Well, I've been dumped from every job I've had because I'm too old to have it anymore, or the greedy b*stards in the financial industry have forced the business to collapse. Yes, Madoff got 150 years. I saw where on the news. They report that it's like a college campus. Maybe I'll get lucky, too, and be sent there. I can room with Madoff.
Hi. My name's Bevie. What are you in for?
Stealing billions from the world and forcing an economic collapse that put millions out of work. And you?
Being poor.
You filthy scum.
Monday, June 22, 2009
I'm Going to be Thankful One Day - Or So I've Been Told
It's graduation season around her. Went to the neighbor boy's graduation party the other day. He was all happy and excited. I envy him his enthusiasm.
Oh, to do it all over again.
What a pain in the a*s that would be.
I didn't fit in at school. Wasn't part of any clique group - until I accidentially formed one consisting of other outcasts. Then non-outcasts began joining and soon I was kicked out. Odd how things work out sometimes, isn't it?
Growing up I had a vague sense of being different than my classmates. Mostly it was because my family was so much poorer than the others. Most of the other kids in the neighborhood, and at school, wore better clothing. Their parents drove better cars. Their houses were newer. They had better bicycles and most of the latest gadgets. They talked about taking trips, and doing things to which I just could not relate. But that wasn't the only reason I was an outcast.
None of my classmates came to school smelling like fuel oil in cold months. I did. All the time. You just cannot wash that smell out of your skin, no matter how hard you scrub - with Lava Soap. Ouch!
I also had a very off-the-wall sense of humor. I could - and did - make fun of anything, everything, and everyone. Including me. Few people can tolerate being made fun of. Not sure why. I've endured it all my life. It seems to go with being alive, doesn't it? Anyway, few of my classmates (and even fewer of my teachers) liked it at all. But I didn't care. And I wasn't afraid to tell them so.
Perhaps that was their greatest objection to me. I told them I had no problem living without them. I didn't need them in my life, and they didn't like that at all.
Midway through my senior year things changed. Daddy died. He had died on January 4th. After that I no longer felt a part of the world around me. As I think about it now I realize something: that has never changed. I still feel disconnected. It's like a part of me is gone which should not be gone. It's a strange feeling actually. Lonely. But I've always been lonely, I think. That goes back to my earliest memories.
I avoided the yearbook cameras after that. I did not go to the photography studio to get a senior picture, so I had no photos to exchange with anyone. But that was all right for, just as I had predicted, no one asked. Well, nearly no one. Two girls from the grade below asked. No one from my class.
When graduation neared I did not participate in any of the pre-ceremony activities. Was forced to attend the rehearsal because that took place during school hours. But I requested no tickets for family members. When asked why I said it was because I was not intending on being at the ceremony. I was criticized by the principal, but I told him I didn't give a damn what he thought. One teacher understood. Mrs. K. She was my creative writing teacher, and she always worked with the senior class, especially during graduation. She said she was glad. She didn't say why, but I expect it was because she understood it was my decision and not someone else's.
Unfortunately for me, I did attend my graduation. I was not happy about it.
Mother had waited for me to tell her about the ceremony and such. She never asked. My guess is that she knew the date and time but wanted me to ask her to come. She did things like that. I wouldn't ask. Didn't. So it was never talked about. Then, on the night of the ceremony, about two hours before it began, she asked about it. (This is why I think she knew all along. But she was distressed to learn I could actually out-wait her.)
Aren't they having a graduation ceremony for your class?
Yeah. I suppose.
When is it?
Whenever.
She was angry with me for not telling her, but I started up the stairs. Didn't matter to me. In two hours it would be too late. But I hadn't reckoned on Helvie. Helvie told mother the ceremony was that night. I was ordered downstairs.
Why didn't you tell me?
Why should I? I'm not going. Why do you want to?
You are going! Get yourself ready. Right now.
I don't want to go.
Yes, you do. You'll thank me for this in twenty years.
And so I was made to go. I was angry, angry, angry. And since I hadn't requested tickets, Mother and Helvie didn't fare too well, either. They had to sit up in the bleachers instead of in the nice chairs close to the stage.
I stood in line while strangers came by to shake hands with the graduates and congratulate them. As soon as protocol allowed, I was out of line and turning in my robe. Mrs. K was handing the real diplomas to graduates as they did this. When she saw me she smiled.
So, you came after all.
I had to. Mother made me.
Oh. I'm sorry.
Various classmates who had treated me like dirt and sh*t for twelve years now came up to me with big smiles and talked about how great it was going to be. Then they all said the same thing: See you at the class reunion. I gave them all the same response: No you won't.
I have kept that promise. The only classmates I have seen since high school have been Stephen, Randy, and Chris. Bumped into a couple of others by accident, but have never sought out those who once hated me. Never saw the point. If I didn't matter to them then, I wasn't likely to matter to them now. I would like to know what happened to Vicky, though. Didn't seek her out because she got married right out of high school. Didn't think I would be appreciated. [smiles]
This year marks the 35th anniversary since my graduation. I had no party. Not really. Two weeks after the ceremony Mother invited my brother and sisters to the apartment (we had lost the house after Daddy died and moved out of the area). Stephen called that day. He had spent the time since graduation searching for me. Coincidentally, he found me that day.
It's been 35 years, and now I look back and remember what Mother told me that evening: "You'll thank me for this in twenty years." I didn't thank her. Won't. After 35 years I'm still not thankful. I should have stayed home that night.
Oh, to do it all over again.
What a pain in the a*s that would be.
I didn't fit in at school. Wasn't part of any clique group - until I accidentially formed one consisting of other outcasts. Then non-outcasts began joining and soon I was kicked out. Odd how things work out sometimes, isn't it?
Growing up I had a vague sense of being different than my classmates. Mostly it was because my family was so much poorer than the others. Most of the other kids in the neighborhood, and at school, wore better clothing. Their parents drove better cars. Their houses were newer. They had better bicycles and most of the latest gadgets. They talked about taking trips, and doing things to which I just could not relate. But that wasn't the only reason I was an outcast.
None of my classmates came to school smelling like fuel oil in cold months. I did. All the time. You just cannot wash that smell out of your skin, no matter how hard you scrub - with Lava Soap. Ouch!
I also had a very off-the-wall sense of humor. I could - and did - make fun of anything, everything, and everyone. Including me. Few people can tolerate being made fun of. Not sure why. I've endured it all my life. It seems to go with being alive, doesn't it? Anyway, few of my classmates (and even fewer of my teachers) liked it at all. But I didn't care. And I wasn't afraid to tell them so.
Perhaps that was their greatest objection to me. I told them I had no problem living without them. I didn't need them in my life, and they didn't like that at all.
Midway through my senior year things changed. Daddy died. He had died on January 4th. After that I no longer felt a part of the world around me. As I think about it now I realize something: that has never changed. I still feel disconnected. It's like a part of me is gone which should not be gone. It's a strange feeling actually. Lonely. But I've always been lonely, I think. That goes back to my earliest memories.
I avoided the yearbook cameras after that. I did not go to the photography studio to get a senior picture, so I had no photos to exchange with anyone. But that was all right for, just as I had predicted, no one asked. Well, nearly no one. Two girls from the grade below asked. No one from my class.
When graduation neared I did not participate in any of the pre-ceremony activities. Was forced to attend the rehearsal because that took place during school hours. But I requested no tickets for family members. When asked why I said it was because I was not intending on being at the ceremony. I was criticized by the principal, but I told him I didn't give a damn what he thought. One teacher understood. Mrs. K. She was my creative writing teacher, and she always worked with the senior class, especially during graduation. She said she was glad. She didn't say why, but I expect it was because she understood it was my decision and not someone else's.
Unfortunately for me, I did attend my graduation. I was not happy about it.
Mother had waited for me to tell her about the ceremony and such. She never asked. My guess is that she knew the date and time but wanted me to ask her to come. She did things like that. I wouldn't ask. Didn't. So it was never talked about. Then, on the night of the ceremony, about two hours before it began, she asked about it. (This is why I think she knew all along. But she was distressed to learn I could actually out-wait her.)
Aren't they having a graduation ceremony for your class?
Yeah. I suppose.
When is it?
Whenever.
She was angry with me for not telling her, but I started up the stairs. Didn't matter to me. In two hours it would be too late. But I hadn't reckoned on Helvie. Helvie told mother the ceremony was that night. I was ordered downstairs.
Why didn't you tell me?
Why should I? I'm not going. Why do you want to?
You are going! Get yourself ready. Right now.
I don't want to go.
Yes, you do. You'll thank me for this in twenty years.
And so I was made to go. I was angry, angry, angry. And since I hadn't requested tickets, Mother and Helvie didn't fare too well, either. They had to sit up in the bleachers instead of in the nice chairs close to the stage.
I stood in line while strangers came by to shake hands with the graduates and congratulate them. As soon as protocol allowed, I was out of line and turning in my robe. Mrs. K was handing the real diplomas to graduates as they did this. When she saw me she smiled.
So, you came after all.
I had to. Mother made me.
Oh. I'm sorry.
Various classmates who had treated me like dirt and sh*t for twelve years now came up to me with big smiles and talked about how great it was going to be. Then they all said the same thing: See you at the class reunion. I gave them all the same response: No you won't.
I have kept that promise. The only classmates I have seen since high school have been Stephen, Randy, and Chris. Bumped into a couple of others by accident, but have never sought out those who once hated me. Never saw the point. If I didn't matter to them then, I wasn't likely to matter to them now. I would like to know what happened to Vicky, though. Didn't seek her out because she got married right out of high school. Didn't think I would be appreciated. [smiles]
This year marks the 35th anniversary since my graduation. I had no party. Not really. Two weeks after the ceremony Mother invited my brother and sisters to the apartment (we had lost the house after Daddy died and moved out of the area). Stephen called that day. He had spent the time since graduation searching for me. Coincidentally, he found me that day.
It's been 35 years, and now I look back and remember what Mother told me that evening: "You'll thank me for this in twenty years." I didn't thank her. Won't. After 35 years I'm still not thankful. I should have stayed home that night.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
A Losing Streak
So, it's going to be one of "those days" today. Started a post and deleted it. Been here and done this before. Several times.
Today we return to our garage sale, and if I wasn't enthused about it last week, today makes last week seem like Mardi Gras. (An interesting analogy as I have never been to Mardi Gras.) But I'm not enthused. Probably because this week marks another ending. Starting on Monday we have to shift gears. Got some doctor things to get done. Hate those.
The first visit, on Monday, is really going to s*ck. It's with the sleep apnea doctor. I'm going at the insistence of my heart doctor, who is convinced I have sleep apnea (because my heart has begun to swell) and insists I get the effing machine to help me breath through the night so I'll "sleep better". Right. Wore that effing machine a few years back. Hate it. Never slept so poorly in my life. But doctors don't give a sh*t about that. All they care about is what they know. They know what keeps a person alive, but they haven't a clue about what makes a person happy. Just being alive doesn't do it. I'm sorry. It doesn't.
Next week we need to begin looking in earnest for a place to live. Hate that, too. After all, it's not like we've got any money to live anyplace nice. When the choices are between two kinds of cr*p, does it really matter anymore? But it has to be done.
Health and home. They both kind of s*ck right now. And there are indications I might be losing my online home, too. My computer refused to reboot over the night and this morning. I finally got it to run (obviously), but I'm concerned it's dying, too. My possessions, my body, life in general, seems to be in a constant state of decay.
Oh, good! I just looked out the window and see that it's raining. There's nothing like having a garage sale in the rain. We'll be packing 'em in for sure.
Oh, well. It could be worse, you know. I know this is true because things keep getting worse. Every year since our personal financial collapse I have believed things would get better. And every year things have gotten a little worse. This year is no different. I am convinced that something good is going to happen. I have felt it coming for years, and this year I feel it stronger than ever. Whatever it is I not only hope it is truly wonderful but that it also gets here soon. I've pretty much run out of sustaining energy. Today, I'll be going through the motions. In the rain.
Today we return to our garage sale, and if I wasn't enthused about it last week, today makes last week seem like Mardi Gras. (An interesting analogy as I have never been to Mardi Gras.) But I'm not enthused. Probably because this week marks another ending. Starting on Monday we have to shift gears. Got some doctor things to get done. Hate those.
The first visit, on Monday, is really going to s*ck. It's with the sleep apnea doctor. I'm going at the insistence of my heart doctor, who is convinced I have sleep apnea (because my heart has begun to swell) and insists I get the effing machine to help me breath through the night so I'll "sleep better". Right. Wore that effing machine a few years back. Hate it. Never slept so poorly in my life. But doctors don't give a sh*t about that. All they care about is what they know. They know what keeps a person alive, but they haven't a clue about what makes a person happy. Just being alive doesn't do it. I'm sorry. It doesn't.
Next week we need to begin looking in earnest for a place to live. Hate that, too. After all, it's not like we've got any money to live anyplace nice. When the choices are between two kinds of cr*p, does it really matter anymore? But it has to be done.
Health and home. They both kind of s*ck right now. And there are indications I might be losing my online home, too. My computer refused to reboot over the night and this morning. I finally got it to run (obviously), but I'm concerned it's dying, too. My possessions, my body, life in general, seems to be in a constant state of decay.
Oh, good! I just looked out the window and see that it's raining. There's nothing like having a garage sale in the rain. We'll be packing 'em in for sure.
Oh, well. It could be worse, you know. I know this is true because things keep getting worse. Every year since our personal financial collapse I have believed things would get better. And every year things have gotten a little worse. This year is no different. I am convinced that something good is going to happen. I have felt it coming for years, and this year I feel it stronger than ever. Whatever it is I not only hope it is truly wonderful but that it also gets here soon. I've pretty much run out of sustaining energy. Today, I'll be going through the motions. In the rain.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
When Buying New is Cheaper
Was going to post about our garage sale. Tried twice, but both times deleted it all. It's just not that interesting. Suffice to say it has gone well. We've made a fair amount of money and seen the last of a fair amount of things. Next week is the "big" week. It is the city's annual summer days festival, and part of that is a city-wide garage sale. There should be dozens of sales going on simultaneously, which should bring in a large number of people. More people means more sales. However, more garage sales means more competition. We'll see how it turns out.
Taking a few days off. It's rainy and cold. Will start again on Tuesday or Wednesday. Not quite half way to getting Son his saxophone. We'll make it if we can get the appliances into the garage and sold. Those are big ifs. Just getting them out of the house is going to be a pain.
The only real pain about doing this are the "hagglers". These are people who insist on bigger bargains than you're giving them. Had a guy come and look at a seed and fertilizer spreader we're selling. It's only two years old and I'm only asking five dollars. It costs forty dollars new. He only wanted to pay three. Had he come on Tuesday (our first day) I probably would have given in. But he came on Friday. Spouse was sick. It was windy (and blowing all of my tags off and items over). The day was slow. I was crabby. Told him if a $35 dollar savings wasn't good enough for him he could forget it. He took the spreader for five, but talked me down on some hoses and sprinkler heads.
I'm not a haggler. Don't enjoy it at all. But some people love it. It's a game to them. The guy who I did haggle with over the hoses actually smiled because he was having so much fun. Don't know what it is about arguing back and forth that appeals to some people. Like drinking coffee. Never could see how people can drink the stuff.
Got a new plan for those annoying bas - people - who show up, look at something incredibly underpriced, and say, "What's your minimum on this?"
The temptation, of course, is to respond with, "Read the frikkin' price tag, you idiot!" But I'm not going to do that. Going to think it. Not going to do it.
No. This is what I intend to do. Assume the item costs ten dollars. When I'm asked what my absolute minimum price is, I am going to respond with, "Twelve dollars."
When they point out to me that the price tag I put on the item says ten dollars I will say, "Well, I suppose I could let it go for that. Will you pay eleven?"
Did something like that with the guy and the hoses. He saw our bicycles and asked how much they were. Then he saw the sign which read, "Bikes Not For Sale." Then he asks again how much they are. I tell him $600 apiece. He opens his mouth to being haggling, but before he can say anything I add, "We paid $500 for them. But we'll take $600. If you want to pay less than that you'll have to go buy new." He paid for his stuff and left.
A*sholes. See how they like it.
Taking a few days off. It's rainy and cold. Will start again on Tuesday or Wednesday. Not quite half way to getting Son his saxophone. We'll make it if we can get the appliances into the garage and sold. Those are big ifs. Just getting them out of the house is going to be a pain.
The only real pain about doing this are the "hagglers". These are people who insist on bigger bargains than you're giving them. Had a guy come and look at a seed and fertilizer spreader we're selling. It's only two years old and I'm only asking five dollars. It costs forty dollars new. He only wanted to pay three. Had he come on Tuesday (our first day) I probably would have given in. But he came on Friday. Spouse was sick. It was windy (and blowing all of my tags off and items over). The day was slow. I was crabby. Told him if a $35 dollar savings wasn't good enough for him he could forget it. He took the spreader for five, but talked me down on some hoses and sprinkler heads.
I'm not a haggler. Don't enjoy it at all. But some people love it. It's a game to them. The guy who I did haggle with over the hoses actually smiled because he was having so much fun. Don't know what it is about arguing back and forth that appeals to some people. Like drinking coffee. Never could see how people can drink the stuff.
Got a new plan for those annoying bas - people - who show up, look at something incredibly underpriced, and say, "What's your minimum on this?"
The temptation, of course, is to respond with, "Read the frikkin' price tag, you idiot!" But I'm not going to do that. Going to think it. Not going to do it.
No. This is what I intend to do. Assume the item costs ten dollars. When I'm asked what my absolute minimum price is, I am going to respond with, "Twelve dollars."
When they point out to me that the price tag I put on the item says ten dollars I will say, "Well, I suppose I could let it go for that. Will you pay eleven?"
Did something like that with the guy and the hoses. He saw our bicycles and asked how much they were. Then he saw the sign which read, "Bikes Not For Sale." Then he asks again how much they are. I tell him $600 apiece. He opens his mouth to being haggling, but before he can say anything I add, "We paid $500 for them. But we'll take $600. If you want to pay less than that you'll have to go buy new." He paid for his stuff and left.
A*sholes. See how they like it.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Miscellaneous Rambling
I get to vent today. So what's new, you're asking yourself. Bevie's always venting about something. True. Only today I get to do it with permission. Wednesday is Venting Day on A Voice in the Wind.
So what am I going to vent about? A couple of things.
Just got back from taking Son to school. Stopped at the grocery store on the way home. We were completely out of milk, green grapes, apples, and Clementine oranges. I was nearly out of my wheat bread, too. (Son and Spouse eat white bread.) No asparagus, either.
So we get inside the store and green grapes are still on sale at a dollar a pound. Good price. But the asparagus has gone UP in price by 60%. So did the Clementines. The apples weren't so bad. They only went up 20%. But they're even more out of season today than they were four days ago. So why should I pay more for apples that are mushy and grainy? I hate mushy and grainy apples. Butter was up nearly 20%. So we left the produce and dairy section with two cartons of milk (price remained stable), some yogurt for Spouse (I hate yogurt), and some mozzereli cheese for the pizza Spouse and Son are going to have tonight while I eat a cheese sandwich and look on with saliva dripping from my mouth, one bag of Clementines and two pounds of green grapes. No apples. No asparagus.
What we find next is that one of my favorite Root Beers (Dads) is on sale, 60% OFF! So is Powerade, 25% OFF. Chips are down. Ice cream is down. Pre-popped popcorn is down. An entire fleet of snack product prices have fallen 25%-60% while the foods and drinks which are my new staples have increased by the same percentages. I swear there is someone monitoring what I purchase and adjusting things accordingly. Why else did they quit making my favorite spaghetti noodles? Why quit selling macaroni in the discount five pound box? What happened to Cream of Shrimp soup? Blueberry Pop Tarts WITH NO FRIKKIN' FROSTING? Life s*cks. So does losing weight. Well, actually it isn't the losing weight that s*cks. It's the losing weight. Right?
Just deleted a half hour's writing. Didn't like the turn I took. Maybe I am growing up at last. Not so sure that's a good thing. I like the idea of being young and silly. It's better just to be comfortable with who I am. Maybe that's what's going on and I'm not really growing up at all. That would be okay.
Do you want to read something really cool? Fairyhedgehog's Hero Story posted on The Legion of On-Line Super Heroes this morning. I've read it. It's cool. Give it a good read. Then bookmark the page and return to read the other posts. There are six now, with four more scheduled over the next eight days.
EDIT: Oh. And what the H*ll's up with these new dashboard icons: set up mobile posting and set up email posting? They pushed my blog titles over to the right and now Legion of On-Line Super Heroes take up two lines. Make the screen look odd.
So what am I going to vent about? A couple of things.
Just got back from taking Son to school. Stopped at the grocery store on the way home. We were completely out of milk, green grapes, apples, and Clementine oranges. I was nearly out of my wheat bread, too. (Son and Spouse eat white bread.) No asparagus, either.
So we get inside the store and green grapes are still on sale at a dollar a pound. Good price. But the asparagus has gone UP in price by 60%. So did the Clementines. The apples weren't so bad. They only went up 20%. But they're even more out of season today than they were four days ago. So why should I pay more for apples that are mushy and grainy? I hate mushy and grainy apples. Butter was up nearly 20%. So we left the produce and dairy section with two cartons of milk (price remained stable), some yogurt for Spouse (I hate yogurt), and some mozzereli cheese for the pizza Spouse and Son are going to have tonight while I eat a cheese sandwich and look on with saliva dripping from my mouth, one bag of Clementines and two pounds of green grapes. No apples. No asparagus.
What we find next is that one of my favorite Root Beers (Dads) is on sale, 60% OFF! So is Powerade, 25% OFF. Chips are down. Ice cream is down. Pre-popped popcorn is down. An entire fleet of snack product prices have fallen 25%-60% while the foods and drinks which are my new staples have increased by the same percentages. I swear there is someone monitoring what I purchase and adjusting things accordingly. Why else did they quit making my favorite spaghetti noodles? Why quit selling macaroni in the discount five pound box? What happened to Cream of Shrimp soup? Blueberry Pop Tarts WITH NO FRIKKIN' FROSTING? Life s*cks. So does losing weight. Well, actually it isn't the losing weight that s*cks. It's the losing weight. Right?
Just deleted a half hour's writing. Didn't like the turn I took. Maybe I am growing up at last. Not so sure that's a good thing. I like the idea of being young and silly. It's better just to be comfortable with who I am. Maybe that's what's going on and I'm not really growing up at all. That would be okay.
Do you want to read something really cool? Fairyhedgehog's Hero Story posted on The Legion of On-Line Super Heroes this morning. I've read it. It's cool. Give it a good read. Then bookmark the page and return to read the other posts. There are six now, with four more scheduled over the next eight days.
EDIT: Oh. And what the H*ll's up with these new dashboard icons: set up mobile posting and set up email posting? They pushed my blog titles over to the right and now Legion of On-Line Super Heroes take up two lines. Make the screen look odd.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Of Mice and Men - Bevie Style
Spouse and I just made a big decision. It wasn't the kind of decision one gets all happy and excited about, because our decision was NOT to go forward with a dream. Yet it wasn't really a difficult decision. It came down to money. We don't have any. That made choosing easy.
Another couple may have chose other than how we did. They may have felt reckless, bold, confident, lucky, whatever. But Spouse and I are Midwesterners through-and-through. We both come from Scandanavian descent. Her roots are mostly from Germany. I have heavy German ancestry through my maternal grandfather, but I can also lay claim to Scottish, Dutch, and Jewish (just a smidgeon) blood. Mostly, I think I have Danish ancestry. (Based on my Daddy's appearance I've sometimes wondered if I don't have Native American roots. But as I have yet to find any documenation on his daddy - my daddy was illigitimate - I'm not sure.)
What was our decision?
Well, I had come up with the clever idea of operating a bookstore. I had found a distributor of overstock books, taken from stores which simply wished to get rid of an inventory, or which had gone out of business. Books could be purchased by the pound or, in some cases, for a dollar apiece. Children's hard-cover books would be a dollar each. But that's a good price! Think of it. One thousand hard-cover books for one thousand dollars. Each of those books would cost around ten dollars in the big time book stores such as Barnes and Noble and Borders. Even Amazon.com would charge near that. But we could sell them for two dollars each and do just fine. We could probably stock a store for less than $10,000 in inventory.
We also sell gift items, which includes toys. Having a children's book section which also had toys for sale would be wonderful, I think. We sell wooden trains, made in Vermont (which means no lead in the paint and such), musical dolls made in Iowa, and a variety of other toys. Since Spouse has spent the last five years working retail almost exclusively, we figured we would do well with such an enterprise. The problem would be money.
Since we already have the gift business we are registered with the State of Minnesota and have a Tax ID and everything. We're so small that we only have to submit sales tax in January of each year, but we're still considered a business. So, every week we get at least one phone call about advertising on-line, being listed in a phone directory, or offered a new deal on someone's new product. Lately, we have also been getting included on the stimulus package calls. Until this week I've ignored the automated calls and informed the real people who call that we are just a home business which is not very active any more. (We sell a few toy items through one of the retail stores Spouse works for. They get a 10% commission on everything we sell. We made $380 in December, $80 in January, $150 in February, and $150 in March. Before this we went two years without selling more than $400 total. Like I said, we're kind of inactive.)
But this past Monday I pushed the "magic button" on the telephone to get us hooked into the stimulus package money. Perhaps we could get a loan and start up a nice little business and hire a couple of people to work. Life would be great.
I soon found myself in telephone conversations with a fast-talking salesman from a company which helps businesses connect to Foundations which are giving away money. Not loans. Grants! I confess that I wasn't hopeful, because NOTHING we have tried since my job was eliminated (with half the department) back in 2002 has worked. Nothing. Everything has failed, even when it seemed there was no way it could fail. Pity.
Well yesterday the guy calls me all excited. He's been in contact with a couple of Foundations which like our idea. The total package: $76,000.
A lot of money, although realistically not so much as we would need as a startup company. Still, $76,000. Talk about a shot in the arm!
But there's always a catch, isn't there? And the catch this time was that in order for this company to help us "close the deal" with these Foundations we would have to "retain" them, much like one does a lawyer. The cost: $2,400. The catch? We're broke.
We got $3,000 back in taxes this year and shoved it into a new savings account to use when we find a new place to live. (Our house has been sold at sheriff's auction, and the only way we can continue living here past August is if we win the lottery or something.) But that is ALL of the money we have. If we retained this company, we would only have $600 left. Not enough to find any place anywhere. Should the Foundations choose against us, we would have virtually nothing with no way to get more.
We didn't even bother considering who might loan us the money. We're not that cruel anymore. We let my sister TWICE give us money - totalling more than $10,000 - to catch up on house payments, only to see the effort lost. The jobs I got to replace the one which was eliminated were also eliminated in massive reductions in staff. (Being the new boy on the block isn't always a good thing.) Now she doesn't have the money and in five months we won't have the house. She could lose her house because she was so generous to us. God I hope that does not happen. We won't let someone else make the same mistake. We shouldn't have let Judayl. I feel creepy every time I think about it. I can just imagine my thoughts toward someone else had I heard of this instead of lived it. Hypocrite, I am.
So saying no was easy. We need the money to find a place to live. That a Foundation is interested in us is no guarantee. For those of you who write, think of it like this: Telling the Foundations about us was like sending a query letter. Them being interested in us is like an agent/editor requesting the full manuscript. The book can still be rejected. There are no guarantees. Life doesn't give many good ones.
The sad thing, too, is that I really don't even know if this guy I talked with is on the up-and-up, or is part of a scam. There are news reports all the time now of scammers contacting people facing forclosure and telling them they can help if the homeowners will just give them so much money. The homeowners give the money and the scammers leave town. Many family have found themselves on the street because of these scammers. That's what's happened in our world. It's a predator feeding frenzy right now.
That also factored in our decsion. Contacting the Better Business Bureau proved to be of no help. They knew nothing of this company, which claims to have been in business since 1997. Well, anyone can claim anything. Maybe they're legit. Maybe not. It doesn't matter. We're not giving them our money.
So, we still have our $3,000, and that's good. But nothing's improved. And that's a pity.
Another couple may have chose other than how we did. They may have felt reckless, bold, confident, lucky, whatever. But Spouse and I are Midwesterners through-and-through. We both come from Scandanavian descent. Her roots are mostly from Germany. I have heavy German ancestry through my maternal grandfather, but I can also lay claim to Scottish, Dutch, and Jewish (just a smidgeon) blood. Mostly, I think I have Danish ancestry. (Based on my Daddy's appearance I've sometimes wondered if I don't have Native American roots. But as I have yet to find any documenation on his daddy - my daddy was illigitimate - I'm not sure.)
What was our decision?
Well, I had come up with the clever idea of operating a bookstore. I had found a distributor of overstock books, taken from stores which simply wished to get rid of an inventory, or which had gone out of business. Books could be purchased by the pound or, in some cases, for a dollar apiece. Children's hard-cover books would be a dollar each. But that's a good price! Think of it. One thousand hard-cover books for one thousand dollars. Each of those books would cost around ten dollars in the big time book stores such as Barnes and Noble and Borders. Even Amazon.com would charge near that. But we could sell them for two dollars each and do just fine. We could probably stock a store for less than $10,000 in inventory.
We also sell gift items, which includes toys. Having a children's book section which also had toys for sale would be wonderful, I think. We sell wooden trains, made in Vermont (which means no lead in the paint and such), musical dolls made in Iowa, and a variety of other toys. Since Spouse has spent the last five years working retail almost exclusively, we figured we would do well with such an enterprise. The problem would be money.
Since we already have the gift business we are registered with the State of Minnesota and have a Tax ID and everything. We're so small that we only have to submit sales tax in January of each year, but we're still considered a business. So, every week we get at least one phone call about advertising on-line, being listed in a phone directory, or offered a new deal on someone's new product. Lately, we have also been getting included on the stimulus package calls. Until this week I've ignored the automated calls and informed the real people who call that we are just a home business which is not very active any more. (We sell a few toy items through one of the retail stores Spouse works for. They get a 10% commission on everything we sell. We made $380 in December, $80 in January, $150 in February, and $150 in March. Before this we went two years without selling more than $400 total. Like I said, we're kind of inactive.)
But this past Monday I pushed the "magic button" on the telephone to get us hooked into the stimulus package money. Perhaps we could get a loan and start up a nice little business and hire a couple of people to work. Life would be great.
I soon found myself in telephone conversations with a fast-talking salesman from a company which helps businesses connect to Foundations which are giving away money. Not loans. Grants! I confess that I wasn't hopeful, because NOTHING we have tried since my job was eliminated (with half the department) back in 2002 has worked. Nothing. Everything has failed, even when it seemed there was no way it could fail. Pity.
Well yesterday the guy calls me all excited. He's been in contact with a couple of Foundations which like our idea. The total package: $76,000.
A lot of money, although realistically not so much as we would need as a startup company. Still, $76,000. Talk about a shot in the arm!
But there's always a catch, isn't there? And the catch this time was that in order for this company to help us "close the deal" with these Foundations we would have to "retain" them, much like one does a lawyer. The cost: $2,400. The catch? We're broke.
We got $3,000 back in taxes this year and shoved it into a new savings account to use when we find a new place to live. (Our house has been sold at sheriff's auction, and the only way we can continue living here past August is if we win the lottery or something.) But that is ALL of the money we have. If we retained this company, we would only have $600 left. Not enough to find any place anywhere. Should the Foundations choose against us, we would have virtually nothing with no way to get more.
We didn't even bother considering who might loan us the money. We're not that cruel anymore. We let my sister TWICE give us money - totalling more than $10,000 - to catch up on house payments, only to see the effort lost. The jobs I got to replace the one which was eliminated were also eliminated in massive reductions in staff. (Being the new boy on the block isn't always a good thing.) Now she doesn't have the money and in five months we won't have the house. She could lose her house because she was so generous to us. God I hope that does not happen. We won't let someone else make the same mistake. We shouldn't have let Judayl. I feel creepy every time I think about it. I can just imagine my thoughts toward someone else had I heard of this instead of lived it. Hypocrite, I am.
So saying no was easy. We need the money to find a place to live. That a Foundation is interested in us is no guarantee. For those of you who write, think of it like this: Telling the Foundations about us was like sending a query letter. Them being interested in us is like an agent/editor requesting the full manuscript. The book can still be rejected. There are no guarantees. Life doesn't give many good ones.
The sad thing, too, is that I really don't even know if this guy I talked with is on the up-and-up, or is part of a scam. There are news reports all the time now of scammers contacting people facing forclosure and telling them they can help if the homeowners will just give them so much money. The homeowners give the money and the scammers leave town. Many family have found themselves on the street because of these scammers. That's what's happened in our world. It's a predator feeding frenzy right now.
That also factored in our decsion. Contacting the Better Business Bureau proved to be of no help. They knew nothing of this company, which claims to have been in business since 1997. Well, anyone can claim anything. Maybe they're legit. Maybe not. It doesn't matter. We're not giving them our money.
So, we still have our $3,000, and that's good. But nothing's improved. And that's a pity.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
The Agony of Being Helpless
I can get p*ssed off quite easily sometimes, but it generally passes quickly. I rant and I rave, but nothing ever comes of it. As a co-worker once said of me when another co-worker threatened to "sic' me on her - I'm not worried about Bevie. Bevie's just a pussycat. I couldn't argue. I am a pussycat. De-clawed.
But, like my Firestar, I still have teeth. And there are other times, when I am not just p*ssed, I am out and out torked. That's when I take action - if I can.
Which is why I feel frustrated right now. My best friend in the world has health issues. What can I do with that? I know nothing about health. Not really.
Someone else I love dearly has suffered abuse from some jack*ss who remains hidden in the shadows.
What can I do?
I can't stand in the breach, as much as I would dearly love to. Being an exceptionally large person, I can be quite intimidating to the cowardly - which is what this jerk is: a coward. All terrorists are cowards. I am not impressed with those who kill themselves in order to take out others. That is not courage. That's stupidity. I don't think God is very favorably impressed.
Neither is God impressed by those who hide bombs at abortion clinics in the name of Christ, or spew hatred over the radios waves in the same name. Those people need a big "time out". They have left their first love and are in grave danger of losing a lot more than the respect of those who truly love God.
Snipers, drive-by shooters, rapists, muggers, child molestors, and those who write words of venom and hatred against individuals are all cowards. Am I grouping anonymous writers with rapists and child molestors? Absolutely. These people are inflicting pain for no good reason with the lowest level of personal risk. That is cowardly.
I have found that low-intelligent men who hate high-intelligent women do not particularly care to be around men who like such women. Even when those men are far shorter than them. My friend, Chris, is hardly over five feet tall. Yet I have seen him put six foot jack*sses to flight with a mere look of annoyance on behalf of a victim.
Which is why I would just love to have this low-life attacker brought into my presence. I'm six foot six inches tall. That's no big deal to normal people. I don't intimidate normal people. But this slimeball who has attacked my friend - this pr*ck would wet his pants, I'm sure.
I don't like to talk violence. It goes against all I believe is in accordance with God. But at the same time, my emotions go crazy when someone I love is suffering, or being hurt. I came really close to causing a scene at my son's school back when his phy-ed teacher left him unsupervised and he wound up breaking his collar bone. What stopped me was my son. He told me he forgave the teacher. I saw that he meant it. He had. So I left off my anger.
But I just hate it when people I love suffer. You see, I don't love bad people. I love people who deserve far more than I can ever hope for them. So to see, or hear of, them suffering hurts. And when I can't do anything to help, I find myself crying.
Now isn't that a grown-up thing to do? I'm quite the tough one, aren't I?
Why can't the people I love live in peace and have good health,? Why am I so powerless to help them? It isn't fair. It just isn't. Why don't my prayers make them better? Why?
But, like my Firestar, I still have teeth. And there are other times, when I am not just p*ssed, I am out and out torked. That's when I take action - if I can.
Which is why I feel frustrated right now. My best friend in the world has health issues. What can I do with that? I know nothing about health. Not really.
Someone else I love dearly has suffered abuse from some jack*ss who remains hidden in the shadows.
What can I do?
I can't stand in the breach, as much as I would dearly love to. Being an exceptionally large person, I can be quite intimidating to the cowardly - which is what this jerk is: a coward. All terrorists are cowards. I am not impressed with those who kill themselves in order to take out others. That is not courage. That's stupidity. I don't think God is very favorably impressed.
Neither is God impressed by those who hide bombs at abortion clinics in the name of Christ, or spew hatred over the radios waves in the same name. Those people need a big "time out". They have left their first love and are in grave danger of losing a lot more than the respect of those who truly love God.
Snipers, drive-by shooters, rapists, muggers, child molestors, and those who write words of venom and hatred against individuals are all cowards. Am I grouping anonymous writers with rapists and child molestors? Absolutely. These people are inflicting pain for no good reason with the lowest level of personal risk. That is cowardly.
I have found that low-intelligent men who hate high-intelligent women do not particularly care to be around men who like such women. Even when those men are far shorter than them. My friend, Chris, is hardly over five feet tall. Yet I have seen him put six foot jack*sses to flight with a mere look of annoyance on behalf of a victim.
Which is why I would just love to have this low-life attacker brought into my presence. I'm six foot six inches tall. That's no big deal to normal people. I don't intimidate normal people. But this slimeball who has attacked my friend - this pr*ck would wet his pants, I'm sure.
I don't like to talk violence. It goes against all I believe is in accordance with God. But at the same time, my emotions go crazy when someone I love is suffering, or being hurt. I came really close to causing a scene at my son's school back when his phy-ed teacher left him unsupervised and he wound up breaking his collar bone. What stopped me was my son. He told me he forgave the teacher. I saw that he meant it. He had. So I left off my anger.
But I just hate it when people I love suffer. You see, I don't love bad people. I love people who deserve far more than I can ever hope for them. So to see, or hear of, them suffering hurts. And when I can't do anything to help, I find myself crying.
Now isn't that a grown-up thing to do? I'm quite the tough one, aren't I?
Why can't the people I love live in peace and have good health,? Why am I so powerless to help them? It isn't fair. It just isn't. Why don't my prayers make them better? Why?
Monday, March 30, 2009
Delayed Medical Attention
My day is slipping away from me. It's nearly lunch time and I still haven't posted but once, over on SOF-The People. It's an episode from Tavaar's background. In honor of 100 posts. Sometimes I think I love Tavaar more than Khirsha. She certainly comes closer to representing my own life.
But I got up late - on purpose. Woke at midnight, two, and three, but forced myself to stay in bed and return to sleep. Got up at six-thirty. This delayed my daily blog visits, and then Spouse and Son got up which interrupted me. Spouse has been around most of the morning, and that means more interruptions. Never should have put the computer in the family room and let Son overrun the study with his toys. Now the room is being used for storing boxes of things we want to keep. The Archives are in there. I can see them through the glass doors. The study has really cool doors. Two of them. Each has a huge cutout filled with glass. (Well, acrylic.) Gonna miss that.
So I've finished my blog rounds late. Another of my blogging friends has gone silent. This time with a clear message that personal issues have put an end to all blogging. Sounds like a permanent condition, which is too bad. This was a new friend.
Anyway, this post. Been dragging my feet at getting to the point.
Got a doctor appointment set up for this Friday. Going to get tested for diabetes. I know I have it. Well, I guess I can't say I know, but the only reason to believe I don't is because no doctor has said I do. I expect that will change after he/she reviews the results of whatever tests they make on me Friday.
The last time I was tested for diabetes was six years ago. Came out negative, but I didn't think I had it then either. Everyone else did. You see, I've let myself get fat. Quite fat, actually. People would take one look at me and think: diabetes, sleep apnea, slob. One out of three wasn't bad, I guess. Now they've got two. It's still a no go on sleep apnea, but try to tell my heart doctor that. He gets VERY upset with me because I won't have myself retested for it. About ten years ago I was tested for it. I was borderline, so they insisted I wear this horrible contraption while I slept.
Now I am a bit claustrophobic, and wearing this head harness was more than a little disconcerting. I don't sleep well anyway - never have (just ask my parents) - but wearing this contraption I wouldn't sleep until I was too exhausted to stay away. So I said "To h*ll with this!" and sent it back. My heart doctor says I didn't give it enough time. I gave it 60 days! The final straw was waking up in the middle of the night and finding myself sitting up in bed clawing at the d*mn thing.
On top of that, it's not exactly easy to be romantic while wearing something like that. One tends to look like some sci-fi alien creature and sound like Darth Vader. Nobody wants to have sex with Darth Vader. Well, probably there are some who do. Unfortunately, Spouse wasn't one of them. (Spouse is going to be so p*ssed that I talked about sex on my blog.)
Since my last diabetes test I have lost more and more feeling in my feet. It's too the point I can hardly feel a thing in places. Ugly purple blotches and stuff, too. And last Thursday night, sleeping in a hotel bed in Duluth, my hands went numb. You know, like they do sometimes during the night? Only they didn't come back right off. It took a full day to get the feeling back in the fingers of my left hand, and two days for my right. This happened once before, but only with one hand. It took three days that time.
Been meaning to set up an appointment and get tested, but I always put it off. I mean, what's the point? I can't afford the test strips, much less the medications. I know people who have diabetes. It's expensive. Why is it the only time I get something expensive, it's cr*p? Like Ron Weasley (Harry Potter Series), everything I own seems to be rubbish. Including my body. Oh, well.
So, I'm going to get tested. The tests will say, Bevie has diabetes. The doctor will write out a prescription. I won't have the money to fill it. The doctor will yell at me and tell me I'm going to die. (Adding his/her voice to my heart doctor's.) I'll get the, "You'll have your arms and legs amputated," speech. "Really?" I'll say. "And who's going to pay for that?" Then, like my heart doctor said last fall, "You'll die." As if that somehow supercedes all other considerations. My response now will be the same it was then. "I know. But I don't have the money."
It isn't so much the finding out that I've got this. It used to be, but I'm past that. The evidence is so conclusive now I can't pretend. It's finding out and knowing that nothing changes, except that now I will know for certain instead of just believing. The knowledge will gain me neither money nor insurance. Especially now. Our beloved governor has spent his entire time in office making it harder and harder for poor people to get insurance, and he's making it even harder this year. At the same time, he wants the state legislature to pass a law making it a crime to NOT have insurance. Beware, people. This man is planning on running for president in 2012. He's an idiot. He's also a Yes Man to the people who pulled GW's strings.
You know what I worry about most? It isn't dying, although I'm not keen on doing that right now. It isn't even being sick, or alone, or miserable because of this. After all, it isn't like I got blindsided for no reason. I did it to myself. It's called cause and effect, sowing and reaping. Paying the consequences for previous actions, decisions, and general behavior.
No. What I fear most is that some jack*ss is going to force me into a hospital, have all kinds of work done, and then leave me with a f*cking medical bill I will NEVER get paid off. And they'll be so happy with themselves because they did this big favor to me. And I will struggle to not hate them for the rest of my life, making me the creep because I should be so grateful for the eternal poverty they put me in. That's my fear.
Well, it seems pointless, but I'm scheduled to go. Friday morning. Something else not to look forward to.
Sorry for walking the riverbottom. Call me a carp, I guess. But remember, starving people consider carp a delicassy. (I think I spelled that wrong, but I'm too lazy to look it up.)
Some people get very angry with me for talking like this. They yell at me, or get up and walk away. Usually, the walking away follows the exchange where they yell at me and tell me to keep on trying. I asked try what? And when they don't have an answer they get mad at me because I don't either. I've tried a lot of things, people. I really have. Nobody believes that because we've been taught (and believe) that if you try, you will win. That's a lie! And it's the worst lie ever. It makes the innocent guilty.
I hope no one bails on me because I wrote a downer post. You don't need to be sorry, or anything like that either. Like I said, I did this. No one else. I'm just venting late because I had a cr*p of a weekend. I hate losing weekends. Even without a job I like weekends. Well, I like Saturdays. For me, the weekend begins about five o'clock on Friday evening and continues until about dawn Sunday morning. I hate Sundays. It's the last day before going back to work/school, and even though those are no longer considerations, the feeling is kind of etched into my soul.
So do not worry. I be back to my usual self tomorrow. Besides, I have about a dozen SuperVillain characters to create today. I'm hoping to post about the Legion of Super On-Line Heroes tomorrow on The Great Sea. I do hope you find the idea interesting and will join. If enough do, then we're talking only one short story every two months or so.
I hope it's fun. You have a great day!
Bevie
But I got up late - on purpose. Woke at midnight, two, and three, but forced myself to stay in bed and return to sleep. Got up at six-thirty. This delayed my daily blog visits, and then Spouse and Son got up which interrupted me. Spouse has been around most of the morning, and that means more interruptions. Never should have put the computer in the family room and let Son overrun the study with his toys. Now the room is being used for storing boxes of things we want to keep. The Archives are in there. I can see them through the glass doors. The study has really cool doors. Two of them. Each has a huge cutout filled with glass. (Well, acrylic.) Gonna miss that.
So I've finished my blog rounds late. Another of my blogging friends has gone silent. This time with a clear message that personal issues have put an end to all blogging. Sounds like a permanent condition, which is too bad. This was a new friend.
Anyway, this post. Been dragging my feet at getting to the point.
Got a doctor appointment set up for this Friday. Going to get tested for diabetes. I know I have it. Well, I guess I can't say I know, but the only reason to believe I don't is because no doctor has said I do. I expect that will change after he/she reviews the results of whatever tests they make on me Friday.
The last time I was tested for diabetes was six years ago. Came out negative, but I didn't think I had it then either. Everyone else did. You see, I've let myself get fat. Quite fat, actually. People would take one look at me and think: diabetes, sleep apnea, slob. One out of three wasn't bad, I guess. Now they've got two. It's still a no go on sleep apnea, but try to tell my heart doctor that. He gets VERY upset with me because I won't have myself retested for it. About ten years ago I was tested for it. I was borderline, so they insisted I wear this horrible contraption while I slept.
Now I am a bit claustrophobic, and wearing this head harness was more than a little disconcerting. I don't sleep well anyway - never have (just ask my parents) - but wearing this contraption I wouldn't sleep until I was too exhausted to stay away. So I said "To h*ll with this!" and sent it back. My heart doctor says I didn't give it enough time. I gave it 60 days! The final straw was waking up in the middle of the night and finding myself sitting up in bed clawing at the d*mn thing.
On top of that, it's not exactly easy to be romantic while wearing something like that. One tends to look like some sci-fi alien creature and sound like Darth Vader. Nobody wants to have sex with Darth Vader. Well, probably there are some who do. Unfortunately, Spouse wasn't one of them. (Spouse is going to be so p*ssed that I talked about sex on my blog.)
Since my last diabetes test I have lost more and more feeling in my feet. It's too the point I can hardly feel a thing in places. Ugly purple blotches and stuff, too. And last Thursday night, sleeping in a hotel bed in Duluth, my hands went numb. You know, like they do sometimes during the night? Only they didn't come back right off. It took a full day to get the feeling back in the fingers of my left hand, and two days for my right. This happened once before, but only with one hand. It took three days that time.
Been meaning to set up an appointment and get tested, but I always put it off. I mean, what's the point? I can't afford the test strips, much less the medications. I know people who have diabetes. It's expensive. Why is it the only time I get something expensive, it's cr*p? Like Ron Weasley (Harry Potter Series), everything I own seems to be rubbish. Including my body. Oh, well.
So, I'm going to get tested. The tests will say, Bevie has diabetes. The doctor will write out a prescription. I won't have the money to fill it. The doctor will yell at me and tell me I'm going to die. (Adding his/her voice to my heart doctor's.) I'll get the, "You'll have your arms and legs amputated," speech. "Really?" I'll say. "And who's going to pay for that?" Then, like my heart doctor said last fall, "You'll die." As if that somehow supercedes all other considerations. My response now will be the same it was then. "I know. But I don't have the money."
It isn't so much the finding out that I've got this. It used to be, but I'm past that. The evidence is so conclusive now I can't pretend. It's finding out and knowing that nothing changes, except that now I will know for certain instead of just believing. The knowledge will gain me neither money nor insurance. Especially now. Our beloved governor has spent his entire time in office making it harder and harder for poor people to get insurance, and he's making it even harder this year. At the same time, he wants the state legislature to pass a law making it a crime to NOT have insurance. Beware, people. This man is planning on running for president in 2012. He's an idiot. He's also a Yes Man to the people who pulled GW's strings.
You know what I worry about most? It isn't dying, although I'm not keen on doing that right now. It isn't even being sick, or alone, or miserable because of this. After all, it isn't like I got blindsided for no reason. I did it to myself. It's called cause and effect, sowing and reaping. Paying the consequences for previous actions, decisions, and general behavior.
No. What I fear most is that some jack*ss is going to force me into a hospital, have all kinds of work done, and then leave me with a f*cking medical bill I will NEVER get paid off. And they'll be so happy with themselves because they did this big favor to me. And I will struggle to not hate them for the rest of my life, making me the creep because I should be so grateful for the eternal poverty they put me in. That's my fear.
Well, it seems pointless, but I'm scheduled to go. Friday morning. Something else not to look forward to.
Sorry for walking the riverbottom. Call me a carp, I guess. But remember, starving people consider carp a delicassy. (I think I spelled that wrong, but I'm too lazy to look it up.)
Some people get very angry with me for talking like this. They yell at me, or get up and walk away. Usually, the walking away follows the exchange where they yell at me and tell me to keep on trying. I asked try what? And when they don't have an answer they get mad at me because I don't either. I've tried a lot of things, people. I really have. Nobody believes that because we've been taught (and believe) that if you try, you will win. That's a lie! And it's the worst lie ever. It makes the innocent guilty.
I hope no one bails on me because I wrote a downer post. You don't need to be sorry, or anything like that either. Like I said, I did this. No one else. I'm just venting late because I had a cr*p of a weekend. I hate losing weekends. Even without a job I like weekends. Well, I like Saturdays. For me, the weekend begins about five o'clock on Friday evening and continues until about dawn Sunday morning. I hate Sundays. It's the last day before going back to work/school, and even though those are no longer considerations, the feeling is kind of etched into my soul.
So do not worry. I be back to my usual self tomorrow. Besides, I have about a dozen SuperVillain characters to create today. I'm hoping to post about the Legion of Super On-Line Heroes tomorrow on The Great Sea. I do hope you find the idea interesting and will join. If enough do, then we're talking only one short story every two months or so.
I hope it's fun. You have a great day!
Bevie
Sunday, March 29, 2009
We Should Have Stayed Home
So, I'm back. For what it's worth. The trip certainly wasn't worth the money spent, and that's saying something, because we spent less than $500. I think we did, anyway. Hope so. That's about 15% of all the money we have left. I'd hate for it to have been more.
We did not have a good time. We did not find a place to live (that we would want to live at). We did not get along that well. (Three people cooped up in a car, a hotel room, and a car for three days.) The portions of time we had reserved to just relax and enjoy ourselves didn't go over well, with the exception of swimming in the hotel pool and splurging at Red Lobster on Thursday evening.
The good news is that we're pretty sure we don't want to move to Duluth. Not that there's anything wrong with Duluth. It's a great place - to visit. There are wonderful things to see and do. But nothing about it said "home" to us. Son got sick riding up and down the streets which, he jokingly referred as, ninety degrees up and down. It isn't quite that bad, but there was a time when we were driving along this narrow alley. The road turned to head down the hill (mountain). I stopped the car. It almost looked like a straight down drop. That was the place where we saw the two white-tail deer. Duluth is close enough to the forest many wild animals show up in town, including bear and fox.
Anyway, we went down slowly. What a pity I don't know automotives. I bet all of the brake shops in Duluth are busy. Unfortunately, if I were to work on brakes, the last place one would wish to drive would be Duluth. One would easily wind up in the lake.
Son probably came out the best. He got to go swimming and buy an action figure at a store. That's pretty much all he wanted to do. Oh, and have the complimentary breakfasts. Only he didn't care for the food. It didn't set well with me either. Food was probably one of the few areas which were kind to Spouse. Oh, and the film.
We argued about which film to watch at the Omnimax Theatre. These are short, forty-five minute films done in IMAX. What's cool about the Duluth Omnimax is that the roof is domed and the film shown there. So your kind of surrounded by the film. Very nice, if you can get past the vertigo in the seating.
Son and I wanted to watch the Alps. Spouse wanted to watch the Great Lakes. So, we decided to splurge. We would watch both. The Great Lakes was first, and then came the Alps. Son didn't really want to go anymore, but he agreed. We get to the theatre and buy double tickets. We watch Spouse's movie. It's okay. But the filming was poorly done and Son has motion sickness again. Spouse claims to be sick, too. So they leave to use the restroom between films. I wait. And wait. And wait. Finally, the second film is starting. Son comes back in. Turns out he and Spouse have turned their tickets back in and have no intention of watching the second film. But I can stay and watch - by myself. Oh, fun! We left. Spouse wanted me to refund my ticket, but I took masochistic satisfaction in refusing to do that. So I paid for a ticket I didn't use.
We get back to the hotel and order pizza from the same place we always do when we visit Duluth. I don't know why, but this time, for some reason, they chose to cook our pizza on a piece of thick cardboard. They weren't even able to cut it with their pizza cutters. We had to tear it apart to eat it. We wound up eating the toppings and piling the crust pieces together. We considered bringing them home to repair the leaks in the roof.
Meals did not work well for me this trip. I wanted to leave Friday night, but Spouse didn't want to. So we stayed, but were up and gone before six-thirty in the morning. The plan was to stop at Barnum and eat at a nice little restaurant with a gift shop. Spouse likes to buy a deck of playing cards every time we take a trip. Well, the gift shop wasn't open. In fact, it had gone out of business. No big deal. Spouse and Son ordered French Bread with sausage links, and I ordered a Country Steak. The waitress returns to tell me they can't make my meal for another fifteen minutes. By then Spouse and Son will be done eating. Suddenly, I'm not hungry anymore and cancel my order. I sit with my hot chocolate and eat the sausage links Spouse and Son won't eat.
What a crummy trip!
I've lost track of the number of times we have gone to Duluth. Only one other trip was this miserable, and that was the time Spouse and I were accosted by two drunken Chippewas looking for a fight. Fortunately, because they were drunk, we were able to get away from them without incurring or inflicting bodily harm. Nothing else went right on that trip, either. I put this trip down with that other. What a waste of time and money.
So, no sooner do we get home than we get another email about Easter. With no energy left I email back: No guarantees. Weather will be a factor. But expect us to be there otherwise.
Not exactly the spring I would have chosen for myself.
We did not have a good time. We did not find a place to live (that we would want to live at). We did not get along that well. (Three people cooped up in a car, a hotel room, and a car for three days.) The portions of time we had reserved to just relax and enjoy ourselves didn't go over well, with the exception of swimming in the hotel pool and splurging at Red Lobster on Thursday evening.
The good news is that we're pretty sure we don't want to move to Duluth. Not that there's anything wrong with Duluth. It's a great place - to visit. There are wonderful things to see and do. But nothing about it said "home" to us. Son got sick riding up and down the streets which, he jokingly referred as, ninety degrees up and down. It isn't quite that bad, but there was a time when we were driving along this narrow alley. The road turned to head down the hill (mountain). I stopped the car. It almost looked like a straight down drop. That was the place where we saw the two white-tail deer. Duluth is close enough to the forest many wild animals show up in town, including bear and fox.
Anyway, we went down slowly. What a pity I don't know automotives. I bet all of the brake shops in Duluth are busy. Unfortunately, if I were to work on brakes, the last place one would wish to drive would be Duluth. One would easily wind up in the lake.
Son probably came out the best. He got to go swimming and buy an action figure at a store. That's pretty much all he wanted to do. Oh, and have the complimentary breakfasts. Only he didn't care for the food. It didn't set well with me either. Food was probably one of the few areas which were kind to Spouse. Oh, and the film.
We argued about which film to watch at the Omnimax Theatre. These are short, forty-five minute films done in IMAX. What's cool about the Duluth Omnimax is that the roof is domed and the film shown there. So your kind of surrounded by the film. Very nice, if you can get past the vertigo in the seating.
Son and I wanted to watch the Alps. Spouse wanted to watch the Great Lakes. So, we decided to splurge. We would watch both. The Great Lakes was first, and then came the Alps. Son didn't really want to go anymore, but he agreed. We get to the theatre and buy double tickets. We watch Spouse's movie. It's okay. But the filming was poorly done and Son has motion sickness again. Spouse claims to be sick, too. So they leave to use the restroom between films. I wait. And wait. And wait. Finally, the second film is starting. Son comes back in. Turns out he and Spouse have turned their tickets back in and have no intention of watching the second film. But I can stay and watch - by myself. Oh, fun! We left. Spouse wanted me to refund my ticket, but I took masochistic satisfaction in refusing to do that. So I paid for a ticket I didn't use.
We get back to the hotel and order pizza from the same place we always do when we visit Duluth. I don't know why, but this time, for some reason, they chose to cook our pizza on a piece of thick cardboard. They weren't even able to cut it with their pizza cutters. We had to tear it apart to eat it. We wound up eating the toppings and piling the crust pieces together. We considered bringing them home to repair the leaks in the roof.
Meals did not work well for me this trip. I wanted to leave Friday night, but Spouse didn't want to. So we stayed, but were up and gone before six-thirty in the morning. The plan was to stop at Barnum and eat at a nice little restaurant with a gift shop. Spouse likes to buy a deck of playing cards every time we take a trip. Well, the gift shop wasn't open. In fact, it had gone out of business. No big deal. Spouse and Son ordered French Bread with sausage links, and I ordered a Country Steak. The waitress returns to tell me they can't make my meal for another fifteen minutes. By then Spouse and Son will be done eating. Suddenly, I'm not hungry anymore and cancel my order. I sit with my hot chocolate and eat the sausage links Spouse and Son won't eat.
What a crummy trip!
I've lost track of the number of times we have gone to Duluth. Only one other trip was this miserable, and that was the time Spouse and I were accosted by two drunken Chippewas looking for a fight. Fortunately, because they were drunk, we were able to get away from them without incurring or inflicting bodily harm. Nothing else went right on that trip, either. I put this trip down with that other. What a waste of time and money.
So, no sooner do we get home than we get another email about Easter. With no energy left I email back: No guarantees. Weather will be a factor. But expect us to be there otherwise.
Not exactly the spring I would have chosen for myself.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Sometimes Freedom is Just a Word I Think
This may be the last post I make here until Sunday or Monday. Going to be away from the computer a few days. If I get up early enough I'll post tomorrow, but no promises.
It's become so I'm not that keen on major holidays anymore. Well, at least not holidays associated with family. You know the ones: Easter, Memorial Day, Independence Day, Labor Day, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. Why? Because I really do not wish to visit relatives. Not any more. Not for several years. Not since I found out how important I really am to them.
When the bottom fell out from under us back in '02, I didn't expect anyone to come running to our aid. People have their own struggles and we probably could have avoided all of this had we but exercised better courage and intelligence. In a nutshell, it was our own fault for not preparing. Well and good.
What I did NOT expect, or appreciate, was the treatment we got after we began falling. Those who did not outright ignore us (me in particular, as Spouse is a favorite on both sides) were downright rude. There have been a couple of individuals who have done more than help. Believing we would recover, Judayl actually borrowed money - twice! - to help us. She spent over $10,000 to keep us in this house. But the jobs I found to replace the one I lost didn't last. My body gave out on the one, and the company eliminated the other. Every time I think about what Judayl did I cry. You see, Judayl is also at cliff's edge financially. To help us, she put herself closer to financial ruin. Talk about feeling like scum. If she loses everything I am going to find it difficult not to blame myself. Only I have no money to give her. And if I had all the money in the world it could not pay for what she has done.
Perhaps it is my guilt over succumbing to Judayl's pressure to accept her gifts which spawns my desire to keep away from other relatives. (Not that they'd make similar offers. No way!) But I confess that Judayl did not need use a lot of persuasion to convince me. Every year I thought would be better than the one which preceded it. Every year I was wrong. Were I person of real character I would have refused the money. It turned out to be a lost cause anyway. (Kind of like A.I.G., if you ask me.)
So, imagine my reaction when, a few years ago, Spouse's siblings set up a reunion birthday party for their mother down in Arizona. We couldn't afford to go, so Spouse sent the appropriate apologies. The response was that the siblings would pay Spouse's airfare to Arizona. I told Spouse that was very considerate, but Spouse responded with the message: Thank you, for your offer, but if you truly want to help us, why not use the money to help us with the house payment? I wasn't too keen on this, but I wasn't going to get in the middle of the siblings. Unfortunately, I would be pulled in whether I liked it or not.
The return message was, to put it in the vernacular, there was no way in h*ll they would help us in keeping the house, but they would pay $1,800 for Spouse to fly to Arizona and back. But Spouse didn't want to leave Son. So the offer was amended: They would purchase two tickets: one for Spouse and one for Son. Spouse asked me my opinion. I said, "Do what you want to do. If you want to go, go. If not, stay home. It's your decision." (For some reason, Spouse hates it when I say these things.)
I think Spouse would have gone, except that Son didn't want to go without me. He didn't think it was fair that I be left home alone. But that was where the siblings' generosity ended. No ticket for me. Which was fine with me. So, because of Son not wishing to leave me alone, Spouse declined the offer.
I got letters. I got telephone calls. (So did Spouse.) All accusing me of not letting Spouse go. I felt like Pharaoh, with them all coming to me like Moses, "Let your Spouse and Son go!" They flat out called both Spouse and me liars for saying it was Spouse's decision. And none of them have been particularly kind to me since. Except for one niece, who always treats me like I'm important. I told Spouse to remember that when I die. M lives her faith, and accepts people for who they are.
Why bring up all of this cr*p? Well, one of Spouse's sisters called last night. During their conversation the topic of another reunion in Arizona came up. If we couldn't afford it then, we certainly can't now. At least then I had a job. But apparently the sister wants no part in organizing this time. Spouse told me afterward that she apologized for how things went the last time, and that she (and the other two organizers) hadn't intended to be insulting or cruel.
I know why Spouse brought this up. Not to go to Arizona. That's a non-issue. Rather, it was about Easter. Several of Spouse's sibling are getting together for Easter, and I know Spouse would very much like all of us to go. I don't want to.
It isn't about forgiveness. (I don't think it is, anyway. Hope not.) I don't care about the details of what happened a few years ago (which is why I remember them, right?). What matters is that they continually make it clear they don't particularly like me and, to my surprise, never have. I find no pleasure in the thought of being someplace in which I am "odd man out". I would rather be home alone. At least I have Firestar to keep me company.
At this point in time I have no idea how this will play out. I just know I wish Easter was over. Then whatever I wind up doing would be over, too. If I don't go, they'll hate me because I didn't go. If I do go, they'll hate me because I did. I'm not that keen on going to family functions on my side, either. I just want to stay home. That's easy.
It's become so I'm not that keen on major holidays anymore. Well, at least not holidays associated with family. You know the ones: Easter, Memorial Day, Independence Day, Labor Day, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. Why? Because I really do not wish to visit relatives. Not any more. Not for several years. Not since I found out how important I really am to them.
When the bottom fell out from under us back in '02, I didn't expect anyone to come running to our aid. People have their own struggles and we probably could have avoided all of this had we but exercised better courage and intelligence. In a nutshell, it was our own fault for not preparing. Well and good.
What I did NOT expect, or appreciate, was the treatment we got after we began falling. Those who did not outright ignore us (me in particular, as Spouse is a favorite on both sides) were downright rude. There have been a couple of individuals who have done more than help. Believing we would recover, Judayl actually borrowed money - twice! - to help us. She spent over $10,000 to keep us in this house. But the jobs I found to replace the one I lost didn't last. My body gave out on the one, and the company eliminated the other. Every time I think about what Judayl did I cry. You see, Judayl is also at cliff's edge financially. To help us, she put herself closer to financial ruin. Talk about feeling like scum. If she loses everything I am going to find it difficult not to blame myself. Only I have no money to give her. And if I had all the money in the world it could not pay for what she has done.
Perhaps it is my guilt over succumbing to Judayl's pressure to accept her gifts which spawns my desire to keep away from other relatives. (Not that they'd make similar offers. No way!) But I confess that Judayl did not need use a lot of persuasion to convince me. Every year I thought would be better than the one which preceded it. Every year I was wrong. Were I person of real character I would have refused the money. It turned out to be a lost cause anyway. (Kind of like A.I.G., if you ask me.)
So, imagine my reaction when, a few years ago, Spouse's siblings set up a reunion birthday party for their mother down in Arizona. We couldn't afford to go, so Spouse sent the appropriate apologies. The response was that the siblings would pay Spouse's airfare to Arizona. I told Spouse that was very considerate, but Spouse responded with the message: Thank you, for your offer, but if you truly want to help us, why not use the money to help us with the house payment? I wasn't too keen on this, but I wasn't going to get in the middle of the siblings. Unfortunately, I would be pulled in whether I liked it or not.
The return message was, to put it in the vernacular, there was no way in h*ll they would help us in keeping the house, but they would pay $1,800 for Spouse to fly to Arizona and back. But Spouse didn't want to leave Son. So the offer was amended: They would purchase two tickets: one for Spouse and one for Son. Spouse asked me my opinion. I said, "Do what you want to do. If you want to go, go. If not, stay home. It's your decision." (For some reason, Spouse hates it when I say these things.)
I think Spouse would have gone, except that Son didn't want to go without me. He didn't think it was fair that I be left home alone. But that was where the siblings' generosity ended. No ticket for me. Which was fine with me. So, because of Son not wishing to leave me alone, Spouse declined the offer.
I got letters. I got telephone calls. (So did Spouse.) All accusing me of not letting Spouse go. I felt like Pharaoh, with them all coming to me like Moses, "Let your Spouse and Son go!" They flat out called both Spouse and me liars for saying it was Spouse's decision. And none of them have been particularly kind to me since. Except for one niece, who always treats me like I'm important. I told Spouse to remember that when I die. M lives her faith, and accepts people for who they are.
Why bring up all of this cr*p? Well, one of Spouse's sisters called last night. During their conversation the topic of another reunion in Arizona came up. If we couldn't afford it then, we certainly can't now. At least then I had a job. But apparently the sister wants no part in organizing this time. Spouse told me afterward that she apologized for how things went the last time, and that she (and the other two organizers) hadn't intended to be insulting or cruel.
I know why Spouse brought this up. Not to go to Arizona. That's a non-issue. Rather, it was about Easter. Several of Spouse's sibling are getting together for Easter, and I know Spouse would very much like all of us to go. I don't want to.
It isn't about forgiveness. (I don't think it is, anyway. Hope not.) I don't care about the details of what happened a few years ago (which is why I remember them, right?). What matters is that they continually make it clear they don't particularly like me and, to my surprise, never have. I find no pleasure in the thought of being someplace in which I am "odd man out". I would rather be home alone. At least I have Firestar to keep me company.
At this point in time I have no idea how this will play out. I just know I wish Easter was over. Then whatever I wind up doing would be over, too. If I don't go, they'll hate me because I didn't go. If I do go, they'll hate me because I did. I'm not that keen on going to family functions on my side, either. I just want to stay home. That's easy.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Clearly I Chose the Wrong Line of "Work"
Spouse and I have been talking about what we would like to do with out lives, as opposed to what others believe we should do with our lives, now that we have this opportunity to start over.
Siblings and friends, intent on being helpful, keep pointing us at jobs we hate. Their attitude is: Take what you can get. It's better than nothing.
I used to believe that. That's why I've never had a job in my life that was truly fulfilling. Oh, I made good money when I programmed software. But it wasn't me. I hated it. I only cried a few minutes when I was told to "get the h*ll out". By the time I was halfway home I felt free. Then I took another cr*p job and felt like I was some kind of repeat offender, put back in prison. Then health freed me from that job and put me into another office job. Talk about being in prison. It was a relief to have the position killed. I guess I owe this Depression some thanks.
Spouse is the same. Spouse also worked in an office. And hated it.
We never left our jobs on purpose because we had each other to consider, and then Son came along and we had him to consider. So doing what we wanted to do became out of the question.
So what happens?
The economy goes into the toilet and I lose all of the cr*p jobs I didn't really want anyway. Spouse's company leaves town and we don't go with it. Not that interested in living along the east coast. We begin losing things in the house. We have one garage sale. Then another. We did that until we ran out of furniture to sell. Without furniture, people just don't flock to a sale.
More and more we have "lost" things, or been forced to give them up. And do you know what? Off the top of my head, the only thing I can think of that we don't have any more that I wish we did is the gas grill. I love eating meat cooked over an open flame like that. Even hamburger and hot dogs. There was a time I used to get porterhouse steaks. That seems like such a long time ago. We also did a lot of chicken. Chicken cooked on the grill is wonderful. You stab a corner with your fork, cut it off with a steak knife, dip it in hot sauce, and eat. Fantastic. Tastes like shrimp. (Not really. Just couldn't resist the joke.)
Losing so much, little by little, has helped with losing so much at one time now. The simple truth is, we don't really give a d*mn anymore. This has turned into an opportunity for us to do what we want to do. The only problem we really have is that we've ignored what we wanted to do for so long, we're not quite sure what it is we do want to do. We have some ideas. Most seem quite stupid. We're going to look into doing those. Hey, we're old. Old and poor. People expect us to be stupid now. To h*ll with all of that "get any job you can lay your hands on" cr*p. We're going to have fun. If we can.
What's sad, I suppose, (especially if you're a rich Wall Street, Banking, or Insurance executive), is that Spouse and I aren't all that dishonest. If we were, we could have gone into Wall Street, Banking, or Insurance. We could have stole and mishandled billions of dollars. Then, when the entire world collapsed at the same time, we could get paid millions more, which we would pocket for ourselves. Oh, why the h*ll do we have consciences? People with money don't. At least, some times that's the way it seems.
Anyway, some time today our house was sold at sheriff's auction. Spouse walked by me this morning and pointed out the auction would take place in about an hour. I asked if we should go and make a bid. Spouse thought that was funny. That's new. When we were young and hopeful, Spouse laughed at all my jokes (whether they were funny or not). Then it got so nothing I said was funny. (Actually, nothing I ever said was funny. Spouse just quit laughing.) Now that we're starting over again, I'm funny again. Well, Spouse is laughing again.
Another bennie! It's kind of a partial return to youth. I just don't get the body I had, which is a shame. Well, maybe not. Thirty years ago Spouse was quite jealous about my body. No need for that now.
Meanwhile, if the government would only treat us foolish people who have real dreams with the same regard as it does wealthy thieves who only see what they can take. They gave billions away to people who WILL NOT USE IT TO HELP ANYONE BUT THEMSELVES. H*ll, we can do that. And for only a small fraction of the cost. All we need is a little more than quarter million dollars. Then we don't have to worry about anything. The house would be ours.
Why is it that politicians can't think like this: Instead of giving money to businesses in which executives skim off large chunks, give the money to the people of the United States. They will pay off their credit cards, mortgages, and car loans. The banks will be solvent. People will feel good and the economy can roll again. For some reason politicians and economists are convinced giving the money to the people who caused this disaster is going to solve the problem.
Anyway, we get to start over. That is a gift from God. I hope we use it well.
Siblings and friends, intent on being helpful, keep pointing us at jobs we hate. Their attitude is: Take what you can get. It's better than nothing.
I used to believe that. That's why I've never had a job in my life that was truly fulfilling. Oh, I made good money when I programmed software. But it wasn't me. I hated it. I only cried a few minutes when I was told to "get the h*ll out". By the time I was halfway home I felt free. Then I took another cr*p job and felt like I was some kind of repeat offender, put back in prison. Then health freed me from that job and put me into another office job. Talk about being in prison. It was a relief to have the position killed. I guess I owe this Depression some thanks.
Spouse is the same. Spouse also worked in an office. And hated it.
We never left our jobs on purpose because we had each other to consider, and then Son came along and we had him to consider. So doing what we wanted to do became out of the question.
So what happens?
The economy goes into the toilet and I lose all of the cr*p jobs I didn't really want anyway. Spouse's company leaves town and we don't go with it. Not that interested in living along the east coast. We begin losing things in the house. We have one garage sale. Then another. We did that until we ran out of furniture to sell. Without furniture, people just don't flock to a sale.
More and more we have "lost" things, or been forced to give them up. And do you know what? Off the top of my head, the only thing I can think of that we don't have any more that I wish we did is the gas grill. I love eating meat cooked over an open flame like that. Even hamburger and hot dogs. There was a time I used to get porterhouse steaks. That seems like such a long time ago. We also did a lot of chicken. Chicken cooked on the grill is wonderful. You stab a corner with your fork, cut it off with a steak knife, dip it in hot sauce, and eat. Fantastic. Tastes like shrimp. (Not really. Just couldn't resist the joke.)
Losing so much, little by little, has helped with losing so much at one time now. The simple truth is, we don't really give a d*mn anymore. This has turned into an opportunity for us to do what we want to do. The only problem we really have is that we've ignored what we wanted to do for so long, we're not quite sure what it is we do want to do. We have some ideas. Most seem quite stupid. We're going to look into doing those. Hey, we're old. Old and poor. People expect us to be stupid now. To h*ll with all of that "get any job you can lay your hands on" cr*p. We're going to have fun. If we can.
What's sad, I suppose, (especially if you're a rich Wall Street, Banking, or Insurance executive), is that Spouse and I aren't all that dishonest. If we were, we could have gone into Wall Street, Banking, or Insurance. We could have stole and mishandled billions of dollars. Then, when the entire world collapsed at the same time, we could get paid millions more, which we would pocket for ourselves. Oh, why the h*ll do we have consciences? People with money don't. At least, some times that's the way it seems.
Anyway, some time today our house was sold at sheriff's auction. Spouse walked by me this morning and pointed out the auction would take place in about an hour. I asked if we should go and make a bid. Spouse thought that was funny. That's new. When we were young and hopeful, Spouse laughed at all my jokes (whether they were funny or not). Then it got so nothing I said was funny. (Actually, nothing I ever said was funny. Spouse just quit laughing.) Now that we're starting over again, I'm funny again. Well, Spouse is laughing again.
Another bennie! It's kind of a partial return to youth. I just don't get the body I had, which is a shame. Well, maybe not. Thirty years ago Spouse was quite jealous about my body. No need for that now.
Meanwhile, if the government would only treat us foolish people who have real dreams with the same regard as it does wealthy thieves who only see what they can take. They gave billions away to people who WILL NOT USE IT TO HELP ANYONE BUT THEMSELVES. H*ll, we can do that. And for only a small fraction of the cost. All we need is a little more than quarter million dollars. Then we don't have to worry about anything. The house would be ours.
Why is it that politicians can't think like this: Instead of giving money to businesses in which executives skim off large chunks, give the money to the people of the United States. They will pay off their credit cards, mortgages, and car loans. The banks will be solvent. People will feel good and the economy can roll again. For some reason politicians and economists are convinced giving the money to the people who caused this disaster is going to solve the problem.
Anyway, we get to start over. That is a gift from God. I hope we use it well.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Why Am I Dabbling in Politics
Two posts on the same blog in the same day. Not usual for me. Hmm. Need to check my blood sugar level. Just kidding. Well, not exactly kidding. I do need to check my blood sugar leve. I just don't know how to do it.
Anyway.
I just did something I never thought I would do. Not only didn't I think I would do it, but it was something that never occurred to me to do. I sent an email to one of our State Senators. Amy Koch, of District 19, to be exact. I don't know if she's even my state senator.
Why did I do this?
Well, I was eating a late lunch in front of the television. There is not a single program worth watching during the day anymore. I used to love those travel shows. There were about a half dozen of them. Steve somebody traveling through Europe. Some old guy for old people traveling through the Caribbean and Mediteranean. Some girl who liked to slog through remote areas. There were also several cooking shows. My favorite is America's Test Kitchen. I like those people. They have fun. There's an Italian woman who's dishes look scrumptious, too. And then there was the British comedy, Last of the New Wine. All gone. Replaced by - cr*p.
So what was I watching? A state senate committee meeting about Reverse Referendums. This is when citizens in a school district sign a petition to put an already passed referendum back on the next ballot in order to see if the public still supports it. Once, back in 1993, this happened and the referendum was overturned. (Wish I knew about this before they forclosed on us.) The Frazee School District in Minnesota has been struggling for six or seven years to get a referendum passed. They get a 60% voter turnout! Incredible when one considers the average turnout for such an election is less than 25%. Clearly, Frazee has issues. These people are not voting because they're civic minded. They're voting because there are two factions who absolutely hate each other.
But they finally got their referendum passed. Now, the anti-referendum people have hired a group of professional referendum beaters to come into the district and begin working on the 15% petition. So what Frazee has done is get their local State Senator to propose a change to the law which would up the required percentage to 30%. (They wanted 40%.) Some want to abolish the law entirely.
What amazed me (but shouldn't have) as I sat and watched with growing interest (began with "boorrriiiinnnnngggggg" and soon became a sense that I needed to say something) was that none of the people supporting this change had done their homework. They didn't know when the last time this law was used. (The Chair happened to know.) They didn't know how many districts are facing this. They DID know that 90% of all Minnesota School Districts are operating with a referendum that supplies as much as 25% of their annual budget. (Something is dreadfully wrong with that, but that's a different topic.) No one of them did their homework. Criminy! No wonder politicians make so many dorky decisions.
Clearly this is a knee-jerk reaction to head off opposition in the Frazee School District. As one senator (a Republican - I was surprised) pointed out, raising the requirement to 30% wasn't exactly fair for school districts in which only 15% of voters even vote.
Proponents argued the same old cr*p how voters had their chance to say no at the election. They had no problem stating out loud they didn't care about people who didn't vote. That's why politicians s*ck. They choose to not realize they're supposed to represent EVERYONE, whether they voted or not, and regardless of who, or what, they voted for.
But anyway, I was also amazed that no one came up with my idea. Maybe it's not legal. Maybe it's so stupid it shouldn't be proposed. But I emailed Amy Koch. Confessed I may not live in her district, but gave her my proposal to chew on anyway. (Gave her my city of - current - residence.) This is what I say.
The voters approved a referendum. Many people didn't vote. No matter. Their failure to vote was their way of saying they were comfortable with the decision either way.
Referendums cost school districts tens/possible hundreds of thousands of dollars just to get a vote. It makes no sense to frivolously force votes because 15% of the voting force doesn't like it. What if 35% (as was the case in one example) voted YES?
Economic climates change. What was a good idea in 2007 is not in 2009. What was affordable in 2007 is not in 2009. Voters should have a right to respond to changes in community economic status.
If 35% of eligible voters said YES in 2007, then why not require at least 35% of eligible voters to sign a petition to overturn that vote in 2009? That would certainly demonstrate the community's desire to rethink the decision.
If only 10% of voters passed the referendum, then only 10% should be required to overturn.
Seems logical to me, so I'm convinced Amy Koch will never even see my email. Someone in her office will get it, read it, and delete it. I may get a form email back thanking me for my interest in state government. But at least I was heard. Right?
Umm. Right?
EDIT: (2 hours later)
Amy Koch responded to my email personally. Oh, and she IS my representative. (Had I only looked at the state map link I could have confirmed this myself.)
So, to answer my question about being heard, the answer is: Right.
I confess to surprise.
Anyway, I hadn't realized they were actually going to vote on something and so I thought they had finished. Had I only waited another five minutes I would have got to see the vote.
They voted to abolish the statute even allowing voters to overturn a referendum. Amy Koch voted against abolishing it. She indicated that the issue is not settled and there will be further discussion. She also said she intends to bring my proposal to the committee.
Maybe government does work sometimes. I only know my faith in it has been waning for some years. I may not get my way, but if my voice can be heard I'll at least feel better about losing.
Second Edit: (one minute later)
Jennifer. I blame you for this. You and Sarah. Between the two of you, I'm becomming socially conscious. I know it's going to give me a massive headache.
Anyway.
I just did something I never thought I would do. Not only didn't I think I would do it, but it was something that never occurred to me to do. I sent an email to one of our State Senators. Amy Koch, of District 19, to be exact. I don't know if she's even my state senator.
Why did I do this?
Well, I was eating a late lunch in front of the television. There is not a single program worth watching during the day anymore. I used to love those travel shows. There were about a half dozen of them. Steve somebody traveling through Europe. Some old guy for old people traveling through the Caribbean and Mediteranean. Some girl who liked to slog through remote areas. There were also several cooking shows. My favorite is America's Test Kitchen. I like those people. They have fun. There's an Italian woman who's dishes look scrumptious, too. And then there was the British comedy, Last of the New Wine. All gone. Replaced by - cr*p.
So what was I watching? A state senate committee meeting about Reverse Referendums. This is when citizens in a school district sign a petition to put an already passed referendum back on the next ballot in order to see if the public still supports it. Once, back in 1993, this happened and the referendum was overturned. (Wish I knew about this before they forclosed on us.) The Frazee School District in Minnesota has been struggling for six or seven years to get a referendum passed. They get a 60% voter turnout! Incredible when one considers the average turnout for such an election is less than 25%. Clearly, Frazee has issues. These people are not voting because they're civic minded. They're voting because there are two factions who absolutely hate each other.
But they finally got their referendum passed. Now, the anti-referendum people have hired a group of professional referendum beaters to come into the district and begin working on the 15% petition. So what Frazee has done is get their local State Senator to propose a change to the law which would up the required percentage to 30%. (They wanted 40%.) Some want to abolish the law entirely.
What amazed me (but shouldn't have) as I sat and watched with growing interest (began with "boorrriiiinnnnngggggg" and soon became a sense that I needed to say something) was that none of the people supporting this change had done their homework. They didn't know when the last time this law was used. (The Chair happened to know.) They didn't know how many districts are facing this. They DID know that 90% of all Minnesota School Districts are operating with a referendum that supplies as much as 25% of their annual budget. (Something is dreadfully wrong with that, but that's a different topic.) No one of them did their homework. Criminy! No wonder politicians make so many dorky decisions.
Clearly this is a knee-jerk reaction to head off opposition in the Frazee School District. As one senator (a Republican - I was surprised) pointed out, raising the requirement to 30% wasn't exactly fair for school districts in which only 15% of voters even vote.
Proponents argued the same old cr*p how voters had their chance to say no at the election. They had no problem stating out loud they didn't care about people who didn't vote. That's why politicians s*ck. They choose to not realize they're supposed to represent EVERYONE, whether they voted or not, and regardless of who, or what, they voted for.
But anyway, I was also amazed that no one came up with my idea. Maybe it's not legal. Maybe it's so stupid it shouldn't be proposed. But I emailed Amy Koch. Confessed I may not live in her district, but gave her my proposal to chew on anyway. (Gave her my city of - current - residence.) This is what I say.
The voters approved a referendum. Many people didn't vote. No matter. Their failure to vote was their way of saying they were comfortable with the decision either way.
Referendums cost school districts tens/possible hundreds of thousands of dollars just to get a vote. It makes no sense to frivolously force votes because 15% of the voting force doesn't like it. What if 35% (as was the case in one example) voted YES?
Economic climates change. What was a good idea in 2007 is not in 2009. What was affordable in 2007 is not in 2009. Voters should have a right to respond to changes in community economic status.
If 35% of eligible voters said YES in 2007, then why not require at least 35% of eligible voters to sign a petition to overturn that vote in 2009? That would certainly demonstrate the community's desire to rethink the decision.
If only 10% of voters passed the referendum, then only 10% should be required to overturn.
Seems logical to me, so I'm convinced Amy Koch will never even see my email. Someone in her office will get it, read it, and delete it. I may get a form email back thanking me for my interest in state government. But at least I was heard. Right?
Umm. Right?
EDIT: (2 hours later)
Amy Koch responded to my email personally. Oh, and she IS my representative. (Had I only looked at the state map link I could have confirmed this myself.)
So, to answer my question about being heard, the answer is: Right.
I confess to surprise.
Anyway, I hadn't realized they were actually going to vote on something and so I thought they had finished. Had I only waited another five minutes I would have got to see the vote.
They voted to abolish the statute even allowing voters to overturn a referendum. Amy Koch voted against abolishing it. She indicated that the issue is not settled and there will be further discussion. She also said she intends to bring my proposal to the committee.
Maybe government does work sometimes. I only know my faith in it has been waning for some years. I may not get my way, but if my voice can be heard I'll at least feel better about losing.
Second Edit: (one minute later)
Jennifer. I blame you for this. You and Sarah. Between the two of you, I'm becomming socially conscious. I know it's going to give me a massive headache.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Not Asking for Help - or Hatred
Why is it that people who do not wish to help others will speak with such venom when saying so? Instead of simply saying, "No thank you. I gave at the office", or, "I'm sorry, but I can't afford it right now", they get absolutely vicious. I'm talking about politicians, too, mind you.
Spouse related seeing some irate senator spouting off on some news program. "Why should we give our hard-earned money to others? Why?" It wasn't a question he appeared to want answered.
To answer the irate senator's question, I can only think of one answer: Because you want to.
If you don't, and he spent an entire speech spelling out why he didn't, then I can't think of a reason.
What I'm curious about is - why doesn't he want to? Why does he appear to hate people in need so much? What is it from his past which brought him to the place where he feels no compassion whatsoever toward people who are losing - or have lost - everything? He talks as if these people suffer because they want to. That it's all their own fault. I will grant him that in some of our (yes, I'm saying our) cases that is true. We have been foolish and stupid.
But what the h*ll's the matter with this guy? He's a frikkin senator for Pete's sake. (Thought I was going to use a different name, didn't you? I'll be honest. I nearly did.) Hasn't he been paying any attention to the news? Millions of people have lost everything (or nearly everything), and not because they were stupid or careless. They simply trusted people who should have been trustworthy, but who turned out to be the worst financial criminals ever. Don't these people deserve even a little compassion?
A lot of people thought they were immune. They thought they had enough insulation between themselves and poverty. How frightening to learn that wasn't true. I never used to feel sorry for the wealthy, or once wealthy. Having fallen with them, I do now. Oh, my perch wasn't nearly so lofty. The kind of money I was used to having wouldn't have seen them through lunch. But now many of them are no better off than I am. I feel sorry for them. Many have no idea what it's like down here at, or near, the bottom of society's step-ladder of success. I've been here before. The lower rungs are not all that unfamiliar. Not pleasant, though. Get stepped on a lot. Sometimes by one's own feet.
A few weeks ago I saw a woman interviewed. She had been a wealthy author or editor. The story didn't make that clear. What was clear was that last year her portfolio was worth tens of millions of dollars. Unfortunately, she had made her investments with the latest Wall Street scammer, and it was ALL GONE. All of it. She was in tears as she told how she didn't know how she would be able to keep her apartments and other things. (Yes, I said apartments. Plural.)
There was a time, I'm ashamed to say, I would have laughed at her. My thoughts would have been along the lines of, "Serves you right! Now see how it feels to be poor."
Not exactly loving, was I? This was after I became a Christian, people. Shame on me.
Couldn't do it this time. This woman, after losing nearly everything, still has more than I ever had when I was at the top of my financial life. Yet I found myself with tears on my face watching her and listening to her cries. She had no clue how to live a simple life. She was terrified. I understand terror. It hangs close to my elbows all the time, waiting for those moments when I'm tired, physically or, even more so, emotionally and spiritually. Then there is this senseless desire to run! I don't know where. I just feel if I can run I can get away from the troubles which beset me. (Fortunately, I am in such poor health I can't run, so I can't give in to the panic.) I know that's what this woman was feeling. That's why she was crying so. She's scared.
I hate to see people cry. Always have. Even when I used to pretend I didn't care. Someone would start to cry and I would begin to hurt inside. When Helvie and I used to fight, as long as she didn't cry I would continue my barrages. But once the tears began, I stopped. Sometimes she used that as an opportunity and beat the cr*p out of me. Mostly, it just ended the fight.
Why aren't people like this senator affected by the very real tears of the helpless? I guess I can understand not responding to people on newsreels. We don't know them, and it's easy not to care. We see so much faked drama on television shows and movies we become desensitized to what we see on a screen. But doesn't this senator know anyone personally who is suffering? Is he that insulated from the rest of us? Everybody I meet has been personally affected by this financial collapse to some degree. My helplessness to help makes me cry just walking around.
But it isn't just the senator's (and there are plenty like him in this country) lack of compassion which brings me so low. Why does he hate us? We're not enemies. We're just poor.
NOTE: This post came out by accident. I had intended to write something funny. Well, laugh it up, I guess. Got good news to post on The Great Sea. Give me a few hours to post it, though.
.
Spouse related seeing some irate senator spouting off on some news program. "Why should we give our hard-earned money to others? Why?" It wasn't a question he appeared to want answered.
To answer the irate senator's question, I can only think of one answer: Because you want to.
If you don't, and he spent an entire speech spelling out why he didn't, then I can't think of a reason.
What I'm curious about is - why doesn't he want to? Why does he appear to hate people in need so much? What is it from his past which brought him to the place where he feels no compassion whatsoever toward people who are losing - or have lost - everything? He talks as if these people suffer because they want to. That it's all their own fault. I will grant him that in some of our (yes, I'm saying our) cases that is true. We have been foolish and stupid.
But what the h*ll's the matter with this guy? He's a frikkin senator for Pete's sake. (Thought I was going to use a different name, didn't you? I'll be honest. I nearly did.) Hasn't he been paying any attention to the news? Millions of people have lost everything (or nearly everything), and not because they were stupid or careless. They simply trusted people who should have been trustworthy, but who turned out to be the worst financial criminals ever. Don't these people deserve even a little compassion?
A lot of people thought they were immune. They thought they had enough insulation between themselves and poverty. How frightening to learn that wasn't true. I never used to feel sorry for the wealthy, or once wealthy. Having fallen with them, I do now. Oh, my perch wasn't nearly so lofty. The kind of money I was used to having wouldn't have seen them through lunch. But now many of them are no better off than I am. I feel sorry for them. Many have no idea what it's like down here at, or near, the bottom of society's step-ladder of success. I've been here before. The lower rungs are not all that unfamiliar. Not pleasant, though. Get stepped on a lot. Sometimes by one's own feet.
A few weeks ago I saw a woman interviewed. She had been a wealthy author or editor. The story didn't make that clear. What was clear was that last year her portfolio was worth tens of millions of dollars. Unfortunately, she had made her investments with the latest Wall Street scammer, and it was ALL GONE. All of it. She was in tears as she told how she didn't know how she would be able to keep her apartments and other things. (Yes, I said apartments. Plural.)
There was a time, I'm ashamed to say, I would have laughed at her. My thoughts would have been along the lines of, "Serves you right! Now see how it feels to be poor."
Not exactly loving, was I? This was after I became a Christian, people. Shame on me.
Couldn't do it this time. This woman, after losing nearly everything, still has more than I ever had when I was at the top of my financial life. Yet I found myself with tears on my face watching her and listening to her cries. She had no clue how to live a simple life. She was terrified. I understand terror. It hangs close to my elbows all the time, waiting for those moments when I'm tired, physically or, even more so, emotionally and spiritually. Then there is this senseless desire to run! I don't know where. I just feel if I can run I can get away from the troubles which beset me. (Fortunately, I am in such poor health I can't run, so I can't give in to the panic.) I know that's what this woman was feeling. That's why she was crying so. She's scared.
I hate to see people cry. Always have. Even when I used to pretend I didn't care. Someone would start to cry and I would begin to hurt inside. When Helvie and I used to fight, as long as she didn't cry I would continue my barrages. But once the tears began, I stopped. Sometimes she used that as an opportunity and beat the cr*p out of me. Mostly, it just ended the fight.
Why aren't people like this senator affected by the very real tears of the helpless? I guess I can understand not responding to people on newsreels. We don't know them, and it's easy not to care. We see so much faked drama on television shows and movies we become desensitized to what we see on a screen. But doesn't this senator know anyone personally who is suffering? Is he that insulated from the rest of us? Everybody I meet has been personally affected by this financial collapse to some degree. My helplessness to help makes me cry just walking around.
But it isn't just the senator's (and there are plenty like him in this country) lack of compassion which brings me so low. Why does he hate us? We're not enemies. We're just poor.
NOTE: This post came out by accident. I had intended to write something funny. Well, laugh it up, I guess. Got good news to post on The Great Sea. Give me a few hours to post it, though.
.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
It Happened on Venting Day
It's been a heck of day. It's been a heck of a week. And it isn't over.
Already I feel like I've used up an entire week. I keep thinking it should be Saturday tomorrow. After just two days.
Tuesday was a funeral day. My sister's best friend in the world died of cancer not long ago and Tuesday was the day they had services for her. I knew Sue, but hadn't seen her since before 1980. But I love my sister and went to offer her comfort.
Around supper time we went to the hospital to visit my mother. Mickey came, too. As we arrived I mentioned to Son that the day would come when we wouldn't notice such drastic improvement from the last time we saw her. I added that I hoped today wouldn't be one of those days. It was. Mother was actually worse. But it was kind of her own fault.
She has been on a liquid diet since the Tuesday before her surgery. This means drinking some gelatin mixture which she said was making her gag just to think of it. So she didn't take anything for breakfast. Mother is diabetic. Not taking her gelatin resulted in her becoming weak, sleepy, and she got the shivers. She was shivering when we came in. A nurse came by and gave her more blankets, but she was still shivering. She fell asleep and we talked with my brother.
They brought in food and she woke. She was so ravenous she actually sat up and ate. Mashed potatoes and a turkey gravy. Then she lay down, shivering, and fell asleep. So we left.
Today I went to visit her again. My aunt and uncles were coming down from Duluth to visit. They were bringing pictures for me. Shortly before I left my mother called and left a message (I was on the phone). She was being released today. To go home.
I don't understand, and neither did my aunt, uncles, brother, or mother. My mother cannot even stand up without help. Why is she being sent home? Her closest child lives about fifteen miles away. I and Helvie live about forty miles away. Her brother and sister live two hundred miles away. How is she supposed to get around alone? She isn't allowed to have people live with her. There's no room anyway. Her apartment consists of a kitchen with less than six feet of walk space between counters and appliances. Her living room is big enough for a loveseat sofa and two small chairs. Her bedroom is big enough for her bed and a dresser. There aren't any other rooms.
Insurance companies. They don't care if people die. All they care about is not paying out money for policies people have paid for. They promise one thing and deliver as little against it as they can get away with.
I spent seven months working for a software company which did software for a couple of major insurance companies. Do you know what over 50% of the code was designed to do? Look for reasons NOT to pay. ANY reason. It's all about delaying payment. Often, especially with people like me, the policy holder becomes so frustrated they give up and the insurance company never has to pay what they legally agreed to pay. With Spouse, however, they kind of met their match. (When we had insurance) Spouse would jump through every hoop they said had to be jumped. She would dot every "I" they said needed to be dotted. She would do absolutely everything they said was required. I remember it took over a year, but Spouse got the insurance company to pay for a $320 claim. I had given up months earlier. Spouse can be very anal. There are times that is very useful. You need it when dealing with an insurance company. You also need a powerful lawyer.
Insurance companies.
People who have never been to medical school dictate how long a person can be in a hospital. Their criteria? Money. Same with medications. The insurance company changed my heart medicine without consulting my doctor. When I called my heart doctor and told him, he went ballistic. He had to give me samples because it was going to take a while to convice the desk jockies that their cheaper subsitute really wasn't the same this time. Sometimes alternate medicines are all right. But insurance companies don't bother asking. They never ask.
I hate insurance companies. Old G.W. wanted to seek out evil and destroy it. Well, he was looking in the wrong place. Iraq and Afghanistan didn't have health insurance companies. The real enemy is among us, and there's not a d*mn thing we can do about it.
Already I feel like I've used up an entire week. I keep thinking it should be Saturday tomorrow. After just two days.
Tuesday was a funeral day. My sister's best friend in the world died of cancer not long ago and Tuesday was the day they had services for her. I knew Sue, but hadn't seen her since before 1980. But I love my sister and went to offer her comfort.
Around supper time we went to the hospital to visit my mother. Mickey came, too. As we arrived I mentioned to Son that the day would come when we wouldn't notice such drastic improvement from the last time we saw her. I added that I hoped today wouldn't be one of those days. It was. Mother was actually worse. But it was kind of her own fault.
She has been on a liquid diet since the Tuesday before her surgery. This means drinking some gelatin mixture which she said was making her gag just to think of it. So she didn't take anything for breakfast. Mother is diabetic. Not taking her gelatin resulted in her becoming weak, sleepy, and she got the shivers. She was shivering when we came in. A nurse came by and gave her more blankets, but she was still shivering. She fell asleep and we talked with my brother.
They brought in food and she woke. She was so ravenous she actually sat up and ate. Mashed potatoes and a turkey gravy. Then she lay down, shivering, and fell asleep. So we left.
Today I went to visit her again. My aunt and uncles were coming down from Duluth to visit. They were bringing pictures for me. Shortly before I left my mother called and left a message (I was on the phone). She was being released today. To go home.
I don't understand, and neither did my aunt, uncles, brother, or mother. My mother cannot even stand up without help. Why is she being sent home? Her closest child lives about fifteen miles away. I and Helvie live about forty miles away. Her brother and sister live two hundred miles away. How is she supposed to get around alone? She isn't allowed to have people live with her. There's no room anyway. Her apartment consists of a kitchen with less than six feet of walk space between counters and appliances. Her living room is big enough for a loveseat sofa and two small chairs. Her bedroom is big enough for her bed and a dresser. There aren't any other rooms.
Insurance companies. They don't care if people die. All they care about is not paying out money for policies people have paid for. They promise one thing and deliver as little against it as they can get away with.
I spent seven months working for a software company which did software for a couple of major insurance companies. Do you know what over 50% of the code was designed to do? Look for reasons NOT to pay. ANY reason. It's all about delaying payment. Often, especially with people like me, the policy holder becomes so frustrated they give up and the insurance company never has to pay what they legally agreed to pay. With Spouse, however, they kind of met their match. (When we had insurance) Spouse would jump through every hoop they said had to be jumped. She would dot every "I" they said needed to be dotted. She would do absolutely everything they said was required. I remember it took over a year, but Spouse got the insurance company to pay for a $320 claim. I had given up months earlier. Spouse can be very anal. There are times that is very useful. You need it when dealing with an insurance company. You also need a powerful lawyer.
Insurance companies.
People who have never been to medical school dictate how long a person can be in a hospital. Their criteria? Money. Same with medications. The insurance company changed my heart medicine without consulting my doctor. When I called my heart doctor and told him, he went ballistic. He had to give me samples because it was going to take a while to convice the desk jockies that their cheaper subsitute really wasn't the same this time. Sometimes alternate medicines are all right. But insurance companies don't bother asking. They never ask.
I hate insurance companies. Old G.W. wanted to seek out evil and destroy it. Well, he was looking in the wrong place. Iraq and Afghanistan didn't have health insurance companies. The real enemy is among us, and there's not a d*mn thing we can do about it.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
It Mattered Enough to Capture
Last Sunday, Spouse and I visited my Mother at her apartment. She wanted to give me keys to the place so I could check her mail while she is in the hospital. She also wanted to show me insurance papers and a list of people to contact in the event the surgery does not go well. It is a real possibility. The surgeon calls her a "high risk" patient, despite the fact she looks about twenty or thirty years younger than her actual age.
Anyway, my surviving aunt was there. Mother's younger sister. We had a nice chat and talked about all kinds of things for nearly two hours. Then Spouse and I had to get home. Before we left, a thought occured to me and I asked my aunt if she had any pictures of The Old House. I didn't figure she had, but when Aunt Cile died, (Mother's older sister), Laurie inherited Cile's entire collection of pictures. This would have been a considerable inheritance as Cile loved to travel and loved to take pictures. Cile was bound to have had lots of pictures of The Old House.
To my dismay, Laurie not only said she didn't have any, but that she had thrown away most of Cile's pictures. She didn't recognize the people and just tossed them.
I didn't react. I'm low on the family's totem pole of importance, so I just smiled and said, "Oh."
Why is it that the people who don't give a d*mn are the ones to inherit the most precious things? Take the d*mn hutch cabinet. I don't care if it's worth $100,000. You can have it. I won't fight. But if you don't want something, why did you take it? And, having taken it, why throw it away instead of asking if someone else might want it?
The same thing happened when Daddy died. Mother knew Alfred and Daddy had been close, so she told Mickey she was giving Alfred the boat, camper, and all that kind of stuff. Mickey agreed. So what happened? Alfred gives the stuff to his sons, and they immediately sell it off.
I think our culture s*cks, and it's infecting everyone. All anyone seems to care about anymore is money. If a thing cannot help you improve your career, finances, or anything like that, it's useless. Throw it away.
We do that with people, too. I know, because a lot of those people threw me away when I became one of society's disinfranchised. I suppose the few who remain will dump me when they learn Spouse and I have lost the house. To be perfectly honest, I don't care about that anymore.
What I do care about is history. Especially history from people who are gone. People who still mean a lot to me. Cile was my favorite aunt. I was her favorite of all the nieces and nephews. We still use these cheap, plastic, pastel-colored, picnic plates for our evening meals. You know the kind? They have four compartments to keep things like jello from sliding into the mashed potatoes. They used to belong to Cile. They're mine now. I like them better than stoneware. The rest of the family was going to throw them away. I snatched them up.
Maybe there's something wrong with me. Maybe I'm the one who's mixed up. I don't care about the furniture, which is what seems to occupy everyone else's thoughts. I care about stupid things, like cheap picnic plates which probably cost 50-cents brand new and still can be purchased at most dollar stores. I care about a favorite pen. I care about the movies and music which used to be important to those I love. I have a good many of Lynahr's videos. The only other thing I got of Lynahr's was the Rainbow Bible Spouse and I gave her for Christmas just two years before she died.
But pictures are so important. That's history! It's real. Those people existed. And they were important enough to have their picture taken.
I never inherit pictures. Do you know who gets them? People who throw them away.
When Grandma Amy died, she had boxes of photographs. They went to Aunt Laurie. Gone now. Laurie didn't know who they were, so they couldn't be important. Cile's pictures went to Laurie. Lynahr's pictures disappeared. I don't know who got them.
Most people are always looking to their future. I look the other way. What happened is more important to me than what is to come. I suppose that's wrong, and why I am what I am, and why family and friends would rather not have me about anymore.
Laurie is a wonderful person. She has done far more to help my mother than I have. I just wish she was a bit more sentimental. Practicality has its place. But not in pictures.
Anyway, my surviving aunt was there. Mother's younger sister. We had a nice chat and talked about all kinds of things for nearly two hours. Then Spouse and I had to get home. Before we left, a thought occured to me and I asked my aunt if she had any pictures of The Old House. I didn't figure she had, but when Aunt Cile died, (Mother's older sister), Laurie inherited Cile's entire collection of pictures. This would have been a considerable inheritance as Cile loved to travel and loved to take pictures. Cile was bound to have had lots of pictures of The Old House.
To my dismay, Laurie not only said she didn't have any, but that she had thrown away most of Cile's pictures. She didn't recognize the people and just tossed them.
I didn't react. I'm low on the family's totem pole of importance, so I just smiled and said, "Oh."
Why is it that the people who don't give a d*mn are the ones to inherit the most precious things? Take the d*mn hutch cabinet. I don't care if it's worth $100,000. You can have it. I won't fight. But if you don't want something, why did you take it? And, having taken it, why throw it away instead of asking if someone else might want it?
The same thing happened when Daddy died. Mother knew Alfred and Daddy had been close, so she told Mickey she was giving Alfred the boat, camper, and all that kind of stuff. Mickey agreed. So what happened? Alfred gives the stuff to his sons, and they immediately sell it off.
I think our culture s*cks, and it's infecting everyone. All anyone seems to care about anymore is money. If a thing cannot help you improve your career, finances, or anything like that, it's useless. Throw it away.
We do that with people, too. I know, because a lot of those people threw me away when I became one of society's disinfranchised. I suppose the few who remain will dump me when they learn Spouse and I have lost the house. To be perfectly honest, I don't care about that anymore.
What I do care about is history. Especially history from people who are gone. People who still mean a lot to me. Cile was my favorite aunt. I was her favorite of all the nieces and nephews. We still use these cheap, plastic, pastel-colored, picnic plates for our evening meals. You know the kind? They have four compartments to keep things like jello from sliding into the mashed potatoes. They used to belong to Cile. They're mine now. I like them better than stoneware. The rest of the family was going to throw them away. I snatched them up.
Maybe there's something wrong with me. Maybe I'm the one who's mixed up. I don't care about the furniture, which is what seems to occupy everyone else's thoughts. I care about stupid things, like cheap picnic plates which probably cost 50-cents brand new and still can be purchased at most dollar stores. I care about a favorite pen. I care about the movies and music which used to be important to those I love. I have a good many of Lynahr's videos. The only other thing I got of Lynahr's was the Rainbow Bible Spouse and I gave her for Christmas just two years before she died.
But pictures are so important. That's history! It's real. Those people existed. And they were important enough to have their picture taken.
I never inherit pictures. Do you know who gets them? People who throw them away.
When Grandma Amy died, she had boxes of photographs. They went to Aunt Laurie. Gone now. Laurie didn't know who they were, so they couldn't be important. Cile's pictures went to Laurie. Lynahr's pictures disappeared. I don't know who got them.
Most people are always looking to their future. I look the other way. What happened is more important to me than what is to come. I suppose that's wrong, and why I am what I am, and why family and friends would rather not have me about anymore.
Laurie is a wonderful person. She has done far more to help my mother than I have. I just wish she was a bit more sentimental. Practicality has its place. But not in pictures.
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