I don't understand racism. There is not a cell in my body that gets it. Yet, for some reason, we are surrounded by it. How, in a country that is of mixed race, creed and prides itself with freedom, can anyone claim to be superior to anyone else?
Growing up we were never really exposed to it. My mom is of Japanese/Hawaiian/Native American decent, my dad is English (although for some reason, he thinks he is German even though our genealogy documentation traces back to England, but, you know, whatever- he's dad, right?). My grandmother was born and raised in Hawaii and spoke Hawaiian, Japanese and English (known as "pidgin"). When she first moved stateside after WWII, a man in a truck ran her over (she survived but was injured) while yelling a profane slang word for Japanese at her. I was in my late teens before I knew this happened. In the early 1970's, not too long after the Civil Rights Act of 1968 involving equal housing, an African American family moved into our suburban neighborhood. My mom immediately welcomed the family into the neighborhood, and became fast friends with them. My parents hired their teenage daughters to babysit us one summer. Honestly, it never occurred to my sister and I that we were of a "different race", to us, they were cool teenage girls that were fun to hang out with.
The first time I ever encountered racism was in junior high. A girl at my school (we went to a small private school) told me that if I hugged my African American friend, that her color would rub off on me. Even then, I knew this was absurd. I stopped being friends with the racist girl because I didn't like associating with ignorance. I remember once a relative called someone "colored" and my dad asked them, "Oh, yeah, what color?", I immediately pictured green. Once in Jr. High, one of my teachers made an off hand remark about me being "yellow" because I was part Japanese. I had no idea what this meant yet was still offended and saddened by it. My mom straightened him out, be afraid, be very afraid... I don't think I was raised sheltered by any means, yet I cannot explain my lack of knowledge when it came to racism. When I was 18 I moved in with my African American boyfriend and didn't give it another thought. I liked him, he liked me - end of story, right? Little did I know that almost a year and a half later, we would break up due to the racism his mother felt for him living with a "white" girl. I remembered thinking, "Wait, I'm not white!" and mourning the loss of what was and could have been.
This is why when I recently encountered racism to the point of bigotry at a family gathering I was appalled, saddened and disappointed. My daughter recently came out and wanted to bring her girlfriend to a family function. I didn't give it a second thought- of course she can come! The other cousins bring their boyfriends so what is the difference? When my daughter walked in with her girlfriend and said hello to the family, one member was silent. This is a relative that has always been close to my daughter and on this day, he wouldn't even turn his head to say hi. Everyone else treated them like the family that they are, but he refused to man-up, swallow his pride and simply say hi. Now, I know everyone is entitled to their opinions, beliefs, etc., but no one is entitled to view another as a lower human. When my daughter came out I was proud of her. To know this about herself at such a young age, and be bold enough to stand on the truth of who she is - Oh yeah, I am proud. So, who the hell does he think he is to attempt to make my daughter feel bad about herself? I asked her after we left if he made her feel bad in any way. She said no, she just felt sad for him. The lessons I have strived to teach her that we should never give another the power to control the way we feel sunk in. Hurray! Again, I am proud. However, I am also sad. Sad for my relative, sad for this country. We have come so far, yet have so far to go.
It seems like this generation of kids, currently in high school, is more accepting and tolerant of others. Maybe this means that in our not so distant future, racism won't be such an issue in America. I hope so. I hope my grandchildren never have to encounter any form of racism or bigotry. They can be free to pursue happiness in peace and harmony. As Lennon said, "Imagine" that. Meanwhile, I still don't understand racism. I don't understand why we still need to go around Mt. Sinai yet one more time when the promised land is just a few days away.
Why can't we all just get along?
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
Life in Smurfsville
Picasso had them, as did Rembrandt, Mozart, Hemingway and Poe. Not that I put myself into their category by any means, but it helps that they are among the population count here in Smurfsville.
Blue days, we all have them, the trick is to make sure they don't stretch in to weeks, months or years. They usually creep up on us and settle like a thick, dark cloud. This one, however, seems more like a tempest. I debated whether or not to even write this blog, as many of my readers know me and my loathing for sympathy. But what is the good of a blog it it isn't powerfully honest, right?
One of the side effects of being one of the unfortunate cut employees from the state employment population, is the loss of medical insurance. Insurance is the reason why I even looked into government work in the first place. The state employee's insurance is excellent. They covered all of my husbands medical needs, and approved his transplant surgery in the future. My new job caps off at $300,000 per year, per person. That will not cover his surgery, nor will it cover his care before and after his surgery. The state funded insurance will not cover him, as stated in my previous blog. I talked to his caseworker today and they have to put his transplant listing "on hold" until a funding source can be found. In other words, if a liver comes available, he will be skipped. We have two options: divorce or faith.
If we divorce, he can qualify for all the state insurance on his own. We can still live together (it may be fun "living in sin") wear our rings, etc., but on all paperwork (taxes, medical papers, and so forth) we have to list ourselves as divorced. Now I know it is "just a piece of paper", we can have a committed, loving relationship without it.....but....... He waited until he was 42 to marry, and then, we found each other. We took our wedding seriously. We take our marriage seriously. Divorce was never a word we even allowed into our home. Another thing, I am not my in-laws favorite person (Shocking I know!! Right?!) which means if we divorce and a liver does not come his way, they could contest his will and claim to be next of kin. Honestly, we don't own anything so it is not about the material. It is about his last wishes. We have had all of the difficult discussions about funeral, burial and so on. They could fight all of it and they have the means to do so. Our social worker at the liver place suggests that we don't tell them anything and if it looks like things are going bad, with no liver in sight, we can re-marry on his deathbed. That's a sobering statement.
If we chose faith (which is the direction he is leaning), he goes off all of his medication as they run out, see the doctor to keep him comfortable and pray for God's will. His faith is very strong. Mine used to be. He believes he can receive a miracle healing from God. We have all seen and heard stories of this happening so I don't doubt the possibility - it's just that do to the last couple of years of winter (yes, we are going on 6 straight years of winter in our lives) my faith isn't where it once was. We have to be prepared for the distinctive possibility that it may not come, but the preparation of that possible reality goes against the faith based belief. What a conundrum.
Essentially, it is his decision since it is his body. I have to live in peace with whatever he decides to do. I believe that once he decides, the peace will come. It's the not knowing that is the main street light in Smurfsville, and currently I am sitting under the lamp post, it's foggy out this night, chin on my fist (much like Auguste Rodin’s, The Thinker), very few passers by, I just heard a cat screech, and the breeze has become warm. My eyes are closed in a silent vigil for my husband's decision, when it is made, I will go home.
Blue days, we all have them, the trick is to make sure they don't stretch in to weeks, months or years. They usually creep up on us and settle like a thick, dark cloud. This one, however, seems more like a tempest. I debated whether or not to even write this blog, as many of my readers know me and my loathing for sympathy. But what is the good of a blog it it isn't powerfully honest, right?
One of the side effects of being one of the unfortunate cut employees from the state employment population, is the loss of medical insurance. Insurance is the reason why I even looked into government work in the first place. The state employee's insurance is excellent. They covered all of my husbands medical needs, and approved his transplant surgery in the future. My new job caps off at $300,000 per year, per person. That will not cover his surgery, nor will it cover his care before and after his surgery. The state funded insurance will not cover him, as stated in my previous blog. I talked to his caseworker today and they have to put his transplant listing "on hold" until a funding source can be found. In other words, if a liver comes available, he will be skipped. We have two options: divorce or faith.
If we divorce, he can qualify for all the state insurance on his own. We can still live together (it may be fun "living in sin") wear our rings, etc., but on all paperwork (taxes, medical papers, and so forth) we have to list ourselves as divorced. Now I know it is "just a piece of paper", we can have a committed, loving relationship without it.....but....... He waited until he was 42 to marry, and then, we found each other. We took our wedding seriously. We take our marriage seriously. Divorce was never a word we even allowed into our home. Another thing, I am not my in-laws favorite person (Shocking I know!! Right?!) which means if we divorce and a liver does not come his way, they could contest his will and claim to be next of kin. Honestly, we don't own anything so it is not about the material. It is about his last wishes. We have had all of the difficult discussions about funeral, burial and so on. They could fight all of it and they have the means to do so. Our social worker at the liver place suggests that we don't tell them anything and if it looks like things are going bad, with no liver in sight, we can re-marry on his deathbed. That's a sobering statement.
If we chose faith (which is the direction he is leaning), he goes off all of his medication as they run out, see the doctor to keep him comfortable and pray for God's will. His faith is very strong. Mine used to be. He believes he can receive a miracle healing from God. We have all seen and heard stories of this happening so I don't doubt the possibility - it's just that do to the last couple of years of winter (yes, we are going on 6 straight years of winter in our lives) my faith isn't where it once was. We have to be prepared for the distinctive possibility that it may not come, but the preparation of that possible reality goes against the faith based belief. What a conundrum.
Essentially, it is his decision since it is his body. I have to live in peace with whatever he decides to do. I believe that once he decides, the peace will come. It's the not knowing that is the main street light in Smurfsville, and currently I am sitting under the lamp post, it's foggy out this night, chin on my fist (much like Auguste Rodin’s, The Thinker), very few passers by, I just heard a cat screech, and the breeze has become warm. My eyes are closed in a silent vigil for my husband's decision, when it is made, I will go home.
Monday, February 23, 2009
The State of Zin
No, it is not a typo. The last few days have been spent in peaceful contemplation and silent reflection. Perhaps it has been all of the time on my hands, time spent at home, time to finally make a dent in the huge pile of books I am in the middle of (my short attention span mixes with all of the pretty colors on the dust jackets and before I know it, I have started another), or maybe it is the extra time I get to spend nurturing my husband through a very rough couple of days (the vomiting is new, hmm) personally, though - I think it is the Zin.
I really enjoy a nice glass of wine. I can't say I drink strictly reds, but why waste the time and money on white when there is all of that glorious red to imbibe. I usually get on specific type indulgences. For a while, it was Merlot, then Shiraz, the blends can be nice, Chianti had a nice run (it melts like 'butta', I tell you) most recently it has been all about Cabernet Sauvignon. Then I stumbled upon a quirky Zinfandel (the real kind not the foo foo pink stuff) worthy of my list. The brand is what makes it quirky but since I prefer to not brand stuff, I'll just hint that Pope Gregory though possibly appreciative of his work being hinted at, would probably not approve of the nonchalant usage of his work by the play on words in this fabulously cheeky brand name. Of course the 17% alcohol content and the fact that it is affordable, probably helps in this reflective state, but, you know . . . whatever.
Given that the past week has been stressful to the point of near exhaustion, I two have two friends in REAL crisis on top the malady my husband lives with and the fact that I have a teenager living at home and another one that is pregnant and looking for an apartment she can afford, when the phone rings asking me to meet for a quick one at my local pub, on them, I happily oblige. This is where the Zin comes in. After making certain my husband is sleeping comfortably and safely and the teens are doing their teen things, a nice glass of Zin awaits me at the Luna pub. Now, you all probably know the atmosphere - televisions playing various sporting events, dim lights, friendly laughing people seated around the horseshoe shaped counter enjoying being. The hour passes, words are spoken full of encouragement and empathy for the hurts and sorrows of the fellow man gathered around the 'roundtable'. Before long it is time to once again go home and jump into responsibility.
Lately life around me has been frightening at times, I worry about my husband and the new symptoms he has developed; and the disgust of living in the richest country in the world yet being unable to take him to the doctor until my new insurance kicks in at my new job that I start in three weeks (we were denied the State funded insurance based upon the projected possible amount of unemployment aide that I may or may not qualify for, depending on many pages and points of criteria in which in the end I did not qualify for because I found a new job before the paperwork was all finalized. - Oh Say Can You See . . .); and my concern for my daughter as she embarks on a new chapter in her life as a mom and sole provider of her unborn baby; and the anxiety of what prejudices my young teen could face at the new discovery of a part of herself that she has the freedom in this society to express. For some reason, I am at peace.
I know, alcohol is not the source of wisdom and release from life's daily grind. If you believe that is my message, go back and re-read the previous paragraphs. It's the comaraderie of humankind, together under one roof under the guise of friendship (let's face it, I probably would not recognize any of my Luna "friends" outside of the pub) to ponder life, both the absence of it and the fullness of it. This kind of unity can be found in many places, your church, your clubs, your schools, etc., but last week it was my pub and for those moments, I am grateful.
I also discovered that I have been wasting my money on the high-end tequila, the house brand is fabulous and not as nearly expensive! - only one shot, however - balance is good.
I really enjoy a nice glass of wine. I can't say I drink strictly reds, but why waste the time and money on white when there is all of that glorious red to imbibe. I usually get on specific type indulgences. For a while, it was Merlot, then Shiraz, the blends can be nice, Chianti had a nice run (it melts like 'butta', I tell you) most recently it has been all about Cabernet Sauvignon. Then I stumbled upon a quirky Zinfandel (the real kind not the foo foo pink stuff) worthy of my list. The brand is what makes it quirky but since I prefer to not brand stuff, I'll just hint that Pope Gregory though possibly appreciative of his work being hinted at, would probably not approve of the nonchalant usage of his work by the play on words in this fabulously cheeky brand name. Of course the 17% alcohol content and the fact that it is affordable, probably helps in this reflective state, but, you know . . . whatever.
Given that the past week has been stressful to the point of near exhaustion, I two have two friends in REAL crisis on top the malady my husband lives with and the fact that I have a teenager living at home and another one that is pregnant and looking for an apartment she can afford, when the phone rings asking me to meet for a quick one at my local pub, on them, I happily oblige. This is where the Zin comes in. After making certain my husband is sleeping comfortably and safely and the teens are doing their teen things, a nice glass of Zin awaits me at the Luna pub. Now, you all probably know the atmosphere - televisions playing various sporting events, dim lights, friendly laughing people seated around the horseshoe shaped counter enjoying being. The hour passes, words are spoken full of encouragement and empathy for the hurts and sorrows of the fellow man gathered around the 'roundtable'. Before long it is time to once again go home and jump into responsibility.
Lately life around me has been frightening at times, I worry about my husband and the new symptoms he has developed; and the disgust of living in the richest country in the world yet being unable to take him to the doctor until my new insurance kicks in at my new job that I start in three weeks (we were denied the State funded insurance based upon the projected possible amount of unemployment aide that I may or may not qualify for, depending on many pages and points of criteria in which in the end I did not qualify for because I found a new job before the paperwork was all finalized. - Oh Say Can You See . . .); and my concern for my daughter as she embarks on a new chapter in her life as a mom and sole provider of her unborn baby; and the anxiety of what prejudices my young teen could face at the new discovery of a part of herself that she has the freedom in this society to express. For some reason, I am at peace.
I know, alcohol is not the source of wisdom and release from life's daily grind. If you believe that is my message, go back and re-read the previous paragraphs. It's the comaraderie of humankind, together under one roof under the guise of friendship (let's face it, I probably would not recognize any of my Luna "friends" outside of the pub) to ponder life, both the absence of it and the fullness of it. This kind of unity can be found in many places, your church, your clubs, your schools, etc., but last week it was my pub and for those moments, I am grateful.
I also discovered that I have been wasting my money on the high-end tequila, the house brand is fabulous and not as nearly expensive! - only one shot, however - balance is good.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
The Circle of Life in Bizarro World
Today, the prey became the predator . . . I landed the job at the major credit card company in the collections office. Keep in mind that over the last 20+ years I have refined the art of avoiding these phone calls even to the point of leaving the state! Shhhh don't tell my new boss! Assuming I pass my background check (I haven't committed any felonies, no wait, is that still a felony? umm, yeah - I have not gotten arrested, charged, etc. for any felonies, or misdemeanors - and no comments from the peanut gallery) I am to begin my new job in three weeks. I am looking forward to working again because I should never have this much time on my hands.
The last week and a half I have dog-sat, house-sat, went to happy hour almost nightly, started this blog, cut ALL my hair off, gotten a friend in fixable "trouble" (you know who you are and I am REALLY sorry about that), knitted 4 dish cloths, read two books, spent countless hours online and that is not even the stuff I normally do like play cabbie with my teenager daughter, take care of my ailing husband and I still have three weeks before I actually start my new job. I did mention I was "squirly", right? Needless to say, I will be happy to be back in the land of the working.
This process of becoming re-employed has been a very short one for me. What has take a week and a half, usually takes many months, I am grateful. So, for what it is worth, here are a few tips:
Apply everywhere, in this economy, one cannot be too picky.
Any income is better than no income so don't turn your nose up at possibilities.
Spend the hours you used to spend at work, actively looking for work.
Register with as many employment agencies as possible.
Include your support system in the process, they will be a valuable source of hope and inspiration for you and they may even know someone.
Apply to all Community Assistance programs in your area. You paid into them all your working life, so don't feel bad about using them.
Don't lose even one day. From the day you become unemployed, your new job is to find one.
Be tenacious, there are jobs out there, keep looking.
Enjoy your down time. Turn off your computer at night and relax.
Keep your life on your normal schedule, it makes the process less painful to have a plan.
Three more weeks and I'll start my new job, new chapter, new journey. And if ya'll can think of anything to fill my next three weeks that doesn't involve fore blogged tequila consumption or ehem, gumshoe fodder - let me know, I am open to suggestions.
The last week and a half I have dog-sat, house-sat, went to happy hour almost nightly, started this blog, cut ALL my hair off, gotten a friend in fixable "trouble" (you know who you are and I am REALLY sorry about that), knitted 4 dish cloths, read two books, spent countless hours online and that is not even the stuff I normally do like play cabbie with my teenager daughter, take care of my ailing husband and I still have three weeks before I actually start my new job. I did mention I was "squirly", right? Needless to say, I will be happy to be back in the land of the working.
This process of becoming re-employed has been a very short one for me. What has take a week and a half, usually takes many months, I am grateful. So, for what it is worth, here are a few tips:
Apply everywhere, in this economy, one cannot be too picky.
Any income is better than no income so don't turn your nose up at possibilities.
Spend the hours you used to spend at work, actively looking for work.
Register with as many employment agencies as possible.
Include your support system in the process, they will be a valuable source of hope and inspiration for you and they may even know someone.
Apply to all Community Assistance programs in your area. You paid into them all your working life, so don't feel bad about using them.
Don't lose even one day. From the day you become unemployed, your new job is to find one.
Be tenacious, there are jobs out there, keep looking.
Enjoy your down time. Turn off your computer at night and relax.
Keep your life on your normal schedule, it makes the process less painful to have a plan.
Three more weeks and I'll start my new job, new chapter, new journey. And if ya'll can think of anything to fill my next three weeks that doesn't involve fore blogged tequila consumption or ehem, gumshoe fodder - let me know, I am open to suggestions.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Carpe diem even though it is V-day
"Seize the day, seize whatever you can, 'cause life slips away just like hourglass sand . . ." Carolyn Arends
What a great song. I haven't celebrated this mockery of a holiday in many years. For the sheer principle of it, I have refused to participate in the commercialized day meant to make one partner feel guilty (for forgetting, of course) and spend a lot of money, and the other partner feel neglected by aforementioned forgetful partner or lonely because of the lack of a partner. I know this is a very cynical outlook of the "holiday for lovers" but hang with me for a moment as the epiphany manifests. This year was different.
One of the things that happens when you are living with and loving a partner living with ("living with, living with, living with, not dying from disease" - another great line in a song, this one from RENT) a terminal disease, is that each day could be the last. This outlook has changed my attitude about today. I am married to a hopeless romantic. I, on the other hand, am simply a hopeless cause when it comes to mush, it actually makes my eyes involuntarily role, and not in a good way. I detest Lifetime, Oxygen Network, books where girl meets boy, girl hates boy, tragedy happens, they fall in love - yada yada yada. I am happy to walk the beach alone, he loves to hold hands and stroll. I read Sci-Fi Fantasy and and enjoy the battle scenes, he would rather watch a movie on one of the previously listed television stations. This would be a good time to note that I am "Mars" and he is "Venus" and since we both know this, it works. So, this morning when he rolled over and sleepily said, "I wish we had room service", I jumped out of bed (actually jumped, too - it was a miracle that early in the morning) and made him French Toast. That's when I had my epiphany; this may be our last Valentine's Day. Being that I am unemployed (although I had a great interview Friday and have been called back for the second interview Tuesday - I digress), we will not be going to dinner tonight, nor will we be purchasing giant hearts filled with god-food, nevertheless it will be a holi-day I hold dear. Which not unlike the actual V-Day, is a victory for a patriotic man that has chosen to live yet one more day.
Next is St. Patty's day, now there is a holiday I can embrace!
"Seize the day, seize whatever you can
'Cause life slips away just like hourglass sand
Seize the day, pray for grace from God's hand
Then nothing will stand in your way
Seize the day"
What a great song. I haven't celebrated this mockery of a holiday in many years. For the sheer principle of it, I have refused to participate in the commercialized day meant to make one partner feel guilty (for forgetting, of course) and spend a lot of money, and the other partner feel neglected by aforementioned forgetful partner or lonely because of the lack of a partner. I know this is a very cynical outlook of the "holiday for lovers" but hang with me for a moment as the epiphany manifests. This year was different.
One of the things that happens when you are living with and loving a partner living with ("living with, living with, living with, not dying from disease" - another great line in a song, this one from RENT) a terminal disease, is that each day could be the last. This outlook has changed my attitude about today. I am married to a hopeless romantic. I, on the other hand, am simply a hopeless cause when it comes to mush, it actually makes my eyes involuntarily role, and not in a good way. I detest Lifetime, Oxygen Network, books where girl meets boy, girl hates boy, tragedy happens, they fall in love - yada yada yada. I am happy to walk the beach alone, he loves to hold hands and stroll. I read Sci-Fi Fantasy and and enjoy the battle scenes, he would rather watch a movie on one of the previously listed television stations. This would be a good time to note that I am "Mars" and he is "Venus" and since we both know this, it works. So, this morning when he rolled over and sleepily said, "I wish we had room service", I jumped out of bed (actually jumped, too - it was a miracle that early in the morning) and made him French Toast. That's when I had my epiphany; this may be our last Valentine's Day. Being that I am unemployed (although I had a great interview Friday and have been called back for the second interview Tuesday - I digress), we will not be going to dinner tonight, nor will we be purchasing giant hearts filled with god-food, nevertheless it will be a holi-day I hold dear. Which not unlike the actual V-Day, is a victory for a patriotic man that has chosen to live yet one more day.
Next is St. Patty's day, now there is a holiday I can embrace!
"Seize the day, seize whatever you can
'Cause life slips away just like hourglass sand
Seize the day, pray for grace from God's hand
Then nothing will stand in your way
Seize the day"
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Norman Rockwell Syndrome
Sitting in the Community Assistance office today, waiting for our appointment to apply for the State health insurance program, I couldn't help but notice a painting on the back wall of a red barn, dirt road, loads of trees, and children playing in their denim overalls. I am sure they have this particular painting hung in plain sight because of the emotional response one gets by viewing it. The "good ol' days", times when children still played outside and you could count up your pennies for the soda fountain. Of course, I am too young to remember soda fountains, but I can nostalgically relate nonetheless. So, I did what all good unemployed Americans that have paid into the system all their lives and now find themselves in need of thus mentioned Community Assistance do, I reflected.
Remembering times spent at my grandparents house with my sister. The smell of wonderful grandma food cooking, the sounds of quiet and wind chimes, the way the floor creaked in memorized places and the warm embrace always awaiting. Pulling into the gravel driveway my beloved grandparents would drop what they were doing to greet us with a hug and a smile. And a visit was never complete without the obligatory tour of grandpa's garden in which we always left with a bag of freshly harvested produce. It made being in that particular office a bit easier to endure. After the moment of reflection, our name was called and with a grin and a sigh, we went into our appointment.
Being unemployed as an adult takes a tole on one's psyche and emotions. I find myself worrying about the bills being paid, our daughter getting the money she needs for the school functions she attends as well as the extra-curricular events she is involved in. I worry about my husband needing to go into the hospital before the State health insurance program kicks in or I find another job, and where we will find the extra for the many prescriptions he has to take in order to stay alive. Of course, I know these worries are extreme, and I know that all of this will sort itself out - my faith in God demands it so, but my overachieving, hyperactive (my husband calls me "squirly") perfectionism kicks in and at times I still fret.
This is why I believe they hung that painting on the wall of the Community Assistance office. Because for one brief moment I was transported back to the days when life was simpler, worries were lighter and money matters didn't matter. It put me in a sunny mood that lasted through our appointment and the remainder of the day which was filled with errands and lunch with my husband who thankfully was feeling well enough for a morning out.
Hats off to the person that chose and hung that painting, on that wall, at the Community Assistance office, you made my day surprisingly delightful.
Remembering times spent at my grandparents house with my sister. The smell of wonderful grandma food cooking, the sounds of quiet and wind chimes, the way the floor creaked in memorized places and the warm embrace always awaiting. Pulling into the gravel driveway my beloved grandparents would drop what they were doing to greet us with a hug and a smile. And a visit was never complete without the obligatory tour of grandpa's garden in which we always left with a bag of freshly harvested produce. It made being in that particular office a bit easier to endure. After the moment of reflection, our name was called and with a grin and a sigh, we went into our appointment.
Being unemployed as an adult takes a tole on one's psyche and emotions. I find myself worrying about the bills being paid, our daughter getting the money she needs for the school functions she attends as well as the extra-curricular events she is involved in. I worry about my husband needing to go into the hospital before the State health insurance program kicks in or I find another job, and where we will find the extra for the many prescriptions he has to take in order to stay alive. Of course, I know these worries are extreme, and I know that all of this will sort itself out - my faith in God demands it so, but my overachieving, hyperactive (my husband calls me "squirly") perfectionism kicks in and at times I still fret.
This is why I believe they hung that painting on the wall of the Community Assistance office. Because for one brief moment I was transported back to the days when life was simpler, worries were lighter and money matters didn't matter. It put me in a sunny mood that lasted through our appointment and the remainder of the day which was filled with errands and lunch with my husband who thankfully was feeling well enough for a morning out.
Hats off to the person that chose and hung that painting, on that wall, at the Community Assistance office, you made my day surprisingly delightful.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Renaissance Ramblings
In this the midway of my mortal life . . . I find myself a statistic of the economic breakdown hosted by the previous reigning government. Budget cuts, Legislative decisions, Reduce by 138 employees before the end of the week - blah blah blah. So, what does a woman on the brink of 40 do when she finds herself unemployed? Start a blog about what it is like to be an unemployed, single income provider of an average American family.
This is the fifth day of my life as an unemployed, former government worker. The first four days were spent in the combined state of tears, ranting and the occasional alcohol binge with friends. Understand, as stated before, I am the sole provider of my family consisting of my husband living with a terminal disease and teenage daughter, so needless to say, income and health insurance are a must. The first day, I spent online doing all of the responsible things such as apply for unemployment (which is backlogged eight weeks at which time we will be evicted - Thanks, DES) register with the web based employment agencies, calling all friends, etc. The second, third and forth days were spent much the same. I have had one interview at an employment agency, one phone interview with a major credit card company, taken seven online tests/assessments and consumed five shots of tequila, two beers and a half bottle of wine. I am really not an alcoholic, in fact I rarely indulge but . . . did I mention I am unemployed and quite frankly - BORED.
My husband and daughter enjoy the extra time I am home and my friends and family have stepped in and offered their support. My mother-in-law offered to buy us a trailer in a trailer park with dirt roads (Umm - thanks?) - which we turned down, my mom cleaned out her freezer for us - which we gladly accepted.
So far, I have learned some things that I value above any paycheck I ever received. One, I have amazing friends that love me and are in my corner. Two, my family and relatives genuinely care and are there to make certain we are never homeless and always have food. Three, in economic times that we are currently facing in America, one cannot be too picky because although there are jobs out there, they are sparse and mostly entry level. And finally, five shots of tequila at my age is a bad thing yet sharing a bottle of wine with a friend is very good.
This is the fifth day of my life as an unemployed, former government worker. The first four days were spent in the combined state of tears, ranting and the occasional alcohol binge with friends. Understand, as stated before, I am the sole provider of my family consisting of my husband living with a terminal disease and teenage daughter, so needless to say, income and health insurance are a must. The first day, I spent online doing all of the responsible things such as apply for unemployment (which is backlogged eight weeks at which time we will be evicted - Thanks, DES) register with the web based employment agencies, calling all friends, etc. The second, third and forth days were spent much the same. I have had one interview at an employment agency, one phone interview with a major credit card company, taken seven online tests/assessments and consumed five shots of tequila, two beers and a half bottle of wine. I am really not an alcoholic, in fact I rarely indulge but . . . did I mention I am unemployed and quite frankly - BORED.
My husband and daughter enjoy the extra time I am home and my friends and family have stepped in and offered their support. My mother-in-law offered to buy us a trailer in a trailer park with dirt roads (Umm - thanks?) - which we turned down, my mom cleaned out her freezer for us - which we gladly accepted.
So far, I have learned some things that I value above any paycheck I ever received. One, I have amazing friends that love me and are in my corner. Two, my family and relatives genuinely care and are there to make certain we are never homeless and always have food. Three, in economic times that we are currently facing in America, one cannot be too picky because although there are jobs out there, they are sparse and mostly entry level. And finally, five shots of tequila at my age is a bad thing yet sharing a bottle of wine with a friend is very good.
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