What Am I?

I wonder.

When I lost my Rex, it seems that I lost a large part of my identity.

This wouldn't be so bad, if it wasn't for the huge chunk of me that I lost when I lost my job and couldn't get another one.

Since then, life itself seems to be chipping away at the essential "me."

I got a job and couldn't do it.
I write but have no way to share.
Shared writing has become more difficult and less frequent.
When I do write by hand, my fingers and thumb go numb, and I have muscle spasms all the way up my arm.

I am no longer a wife.
I'm still a mother, but my children are grown. (One is something of a big baby, but she's becoming an adult at a greatly decelerated rate.)
I'm a grandmother, but I can rarely see or take care of the babies, due to economics  (I'm usually literally out of gas.)When I do have them, they frazzle me, and it's not so easy to just take them home. I don't really want to, anyway.

I'm a writer, but losing the physical ability to write.

I'm a friend, but I have little to offer or share with my friends, when I can even keep in touch with them.

So, I am wondering, what am I?

Too Many Good-byes

There are too many people dying.

Do more people die in January (or January and February)  than other months, or does it just seem that way because we don't have fair-weather distractions?

Phyllis Walls was killed in a head-on collision on what I think was a familiar road. New Year's Day. What a great start to the New Year for her family, and fore her friends, even the long-ago-and-far-away ones. How horrible it is to have someone just not be there anymore. How horrible and how hard,

There has been another death, too, in my husband's family. Kevin Mullins. The husband of Rex's niece Eva, has passed away, and the whole family mourns yet again. They brought in the New Year in the hospital, with this horrific outcome. There have been too many deaths in this family in the last three to six months, and there are always too many deaths in the world.

A writer friend is sitting in a hospital waiting for her father to die. He went for one thing, developed another, and it has gone downhill from there. 

People should at least die from what's wrong with them, if they must die. (As we all must.)

It always seems to be wrong people who are dying, too. 

I don't mean the drug addicts, or even mass murderers, because I can understand that they may need extra chances to get it right,

I mean people with horrid diseases, slowly dying from the inside out.

I mean people who will never have independent lives again, and if they were in their right minds, would they want to live the dependent lives they are being forced to?

I even include people who are quietly soul starving, who live futile, desperate lives. Who perhaps want to "go home" or maybe they would only like to rest, for a really really long time.

Why can't these people be taken with such suddenness? Why is it the people with busy full lives who just disappear from the day-to-day of their families, their friends, their loved ones?

Well, life and love are mysteries, or so they say. 

Unsolved Mysteries.

Unfair Mysteries.

And it is only the 9th of January. 

The Working World: adapted from Facebook post.

I hate the job.
I hate the hours.
I hate the work.
I have to see straight lines and color variations. I can do neither of those things under the best of circumstances. And they make me wear safety glasses over my glasses -- y'all can maybe guess how exactly helpful it is to have an extra lens over your lenses when already your vision cannot be corrected to 20/20.

Plus my feet hurt, and my back twists (not as part of the job) I have muscle spasms in my back, in my butt, in my fingers. Comfy shoes are against the rules. We must wear steel toed shoes. They aren't too uncomfortable, but 12 hours and concrete floors are hard, even if I were walking on air.
My hips feel as if they are going to just pop out of their sockets, and that scares me.
I spend my breaks in the bathroom so I can just take off my shoes.




I really wish I didn't have to wear the safety glasses. That extra lens has my vision all discombobulated. But they don't have the side pieces to slip onto glasses, and it's unacceptable to buy my own and wear them. I asked.

Of course, two days doesn't equal a fair chance, so I will be going back tomorrow as I'm scheduled to, but I have to tell you -- it's really really hard, and really really painful. I hope/wish they would find me another job. there's too much waiting on the next person or the last person on the job I am doing. It would be much easier if I could stay steady busy.

But I'll keep trying. Who will come and roll me to the car when mu legs won't support me as I roll out of bed one fine morning? I wish we were having the blizzard. But too much rest may be just as bad, so maybe I'll just roll out in the morning and roll on in

New

I have a job to report to Monday! Hooray!

You would not believe how difficult getting this job has been. It seems that everything on earth has been against it happening.

First, I lost my Internet, so there could be no instant email connection.
I lost my home phone at the same time, so there would be no phone calls there. I was prepared for that, using the cell phone  number, so that wasn't really a big deal.


The cell phone quit working -- sometimes. Sometimes it would work, sometimes it wouldn't. It would ring in a call, but the only sound when I answered would be the echoing emptiness of a bad cell connection -- that tunnel sound. Sometimes I would get calls with no numbers.
The most fun was when I would get voice mails -- multiple voice mails -- without ever getting a phone call.
This is where the calling thing would get crazy -- because one has to call the voice mail to collect the voice mail messages. One of which, I could make out, barely, was from the lady at MultiColor.

Thank God for managing capable sisters. Because Rita stepped in and made the call back and got everything communicated to me, and there was a hectic couple of days as I rushed about for drug screening and trying to get my phone straightened out.

They told me they would send me a replacement phone and I would be able to transfer my  minutes and my number. Wouldn't need to change my number. So I sent in an updated application with the same old number on it.

Well, that was wrong. For whatever reason, they couldn't transfer the number, when I did get the replacement phone. It wasn't compatible, or too old, or something. I didn't understand. They did transfer the minutes.

BUT -- you knew there was a but, didn't you? -- when I make a call on this replacement phone that does NOT have my old number, no one on the other end can hear me. I can hear them. They cannot hear me.

So, I am waiting again, for another replacement phone, while I am waiting to get word about this job. No Internet access, no way to call out without borrowing a phone and using up someone else's minutes, and the job had the wrong damn number -- in triplicate. Plus holidays in the way, libraries closed, or shortened hours.

I did finally get to a library and emailed the contact with the temp service that does the hiring for the factory. I explained briefly there are problems with the phone(s), and I offered two other numbers for them -- one was my sister's, that they already had and the other was the borrowed  minutes phone.

But I did finally get the call, and I am going back to work on Monday.

A new job leading to a new life is a very good way to start a new year.

Christmas is Coming, Full steam

This year Christmas will be a mess. It will be sad, because of Rex's absence. I'm already missing the shopping marathon -- the one day of the year he would go out and do some real shopping. How he enjoyed buying things! Although he admittedly never cared for the shopping part of it.
He never cared for a lot of the associated things. He liked watching the kids open presents. He liked buying presents. He liked when his other daughter would visit, and was often hurt that he was alone in that. He liked having a good buffet laid out. (He would have preferred a meal, but with no set time for visitors and visiting, he came to appreciate the cold cut tray and the veggie tray and the devilled eggs. He loved his devilled eggs. Even when they weren't so tasty.

Anyway, Christmas will be different this year for us.

The biggest difference will be the gifts not here for the kids. Well, for Hailey. Warren's never had a Christmas, so he won't miss anything. Hailey will miss it for him, though. She knows how it's supposed to be.
I do have some things put away for the kids, and will spend a little to get some things. I have one substantial gift for Babby, bought before the Bad Thing happened. I'm hoping to find something equal for Hailey-Girl.
Don't know when, don't know how, but I have faith in the magicks of the Season. I've seen it all fall into place too many times. (Or seen what looked like disaster turn into the highlight of the day.)
Yes, I have faith, and I will keep my eyes open. And, I hope, my heart.

Christmas is coming for me and for my girls, and for the babies, and for the whole wide world, even those who call it by other names.

For us, here, even the weather has been doing its job in making spirits bright.
Snow and ice, ice and snow.
Lights reflecting and a frosty glow.
It's cold, cold, cold

We will welcome it with all the love we have to give.

That is what matters

Is "Snow Emergency" Legally Valid?

We're in the grip of our first snow emergency of the 2013-2014 winter. Winter Storm Cleon. With Dion already following closely.

Now, this isn't about what makes a snow emergency in any specific place. Minnesota and North Dakota would probably laugh at what Cincinnati calls an emergency.Maybe even at what they would call a significant snowfall.

But, the fact is, Cincinnati communities are calling snow emergencies of various levels.

Big whooping deal. It means, for the most part, that communities can write tickets and write off damage to cars parked on the streets.

They say not to go out unless absolutely necessary.
But who decides what is necessary?

I can tell you who does NOT decide.
Service industry workers. They have to go to work or lose their jobs.
The owners of various businesses don't care much if the police say don't go out.
The police don't care much, either. If you are driving slowly and carefully, they aren't likely to chase you down and possibly cause an accident, as well as keeping you both out when you could be getting in somewhere.
But the gas stations HAVE to stay open.
McDonald's MUST stay open.
Facilities such as hospitals and nursing homes, by their very nature, need to stay open. But must they insist on workers coming in in a "snow emergency"?
(I don't know what they could do instead. They should work up snow emergency protocols. Reduced staff, maybe sleep-breaks for people who will remain instead of go out I believe some hospitals do do that.)

Not only do these businesses insist on insisting, they punish those who don't risk life and limb to serve coffee to idiots. (Road personnel excepted from this category.) They write them up(disciplinary action); they brand them as unreliable; they reduce their hours; they even fire them.
They do not pay the fines for tickets received.
They do not pay for damages caused by an accident when their employees should never have been on the road in the first place.
They do not compensate for extra gas burned in longer, slower drives.
They don't pay hospital bills for slip and slide crashes.
They do NOT pay for funerals.

It's not just the service industry. There are factories with this same mindset. Never mind that their product is nonessential -- they have quotas that must be met, come hell or high water. (Hell or high snowdrifts?) The work must be done.

No mere employee can protest any of these disciplinary actions by pleading a snow emergency. The designation has no standing in labor law.

So, a "Snow Emergency" is a money maker for the municipality.
A "Snow Emergency" is an out for insurance companies, who will not pay (easily) for an accident caused when the driver wasn't supposed to be driving.
A "Snow Emergency" is no reason to not go out; thus says American Industry.

So, I ask you, why bother.
Why bother?

Password

There's been a new spate of articles about unsafe or insecure passwords and how people use things they can remember as passwords. Probably to go along with the big shopping season the world indulges in every year.

There's validity to it of course. If you are giving out banking or credit card information, as is necessary when shopping, you want -- or should want -- your password to be as secure as humanly possible. (Please note the word humanly.)

The articles are baffling, though. You aren't supposed to make a password that you can easily remember, but you are also not supposed to write it down and keep  it anywhere remotely around your computer or on your person.
I guess that leaves the sock drawer out.

The articles go on and on and on about how people do this or do that silliness for their passwords PASSWORD is an easy frequently-used example. Or abc123. The writer talks about how obvious this can be and how it can let people into your accounts.

What the article doesn't say is what accounts. If you are on the Internet much, you need passwords for just about everything. Newspapers. Videos. Inspirational email clubs. Prayer chains. Comic strips.

I don't know about you, but if someone wants to know what I'm reading in the newspaper (with no paper involved) that badly, I don't mind making it easy for them. Since I'll probably share the articles on Facebook or other social media, they don't even really have to hack.

Same with videos.
There is a pointless need for password after password after password. It's hardly the fault of the user to make them easy when they are unimportant. Maybe not to the page owners, but to the user, who only wants to read Dear Abby or The Far Side, the secret code to do so is unimportant.

In fact, it is a major pain in the brain.
I mean, who cares?

I would be more impressed with password safety articles that addressed specific sites and/or behaviors. My banking password is more secure than my newspaper password. And, yes, I have the same password for a few different newspapers. Although it's simpler to read the free pages that can be searched for and found.

If an article wants my attention, be specific. My Amazon account has a different password. My bills each have their own password, which is not, when possible, the account number. Address those points and passwords, content writer. Explain to the uninitiated why abc123 isn't good to access your Swiss bank account. If they don't already know that, I'm not sure how effective your writing will be. They already seem to be lacking a bit of computer savvy.

But writing for the computer experienced with no new information and with a hodge podge of heaped together statistics isn't winning you any fans, either.

Tell me something new.

Brown Thursday? Are you kidding me?

I mean, what makes it brown? The shadiness of forcing minimum wage part timers away fro their families so the rich can get richer? That is shady, to say the least.

It's been a big item in the news and on social media this last week.
Boycott Walmart -- after you start a riot over a tv.
Don't shop K-mart, Target, Big Buy, Best Guy, etc --make sure you bundle up while you wait in line even before Thanksgiving.
Other news stories about how more people than ever will be eating out. Well, they wouldn't/couldn't if the damn restaurants were closed, could they?
Unless they want to line up two frigid nights ahead of time.
Oh, gee, if I want to wait for a meal I can just go "Home" for the holiday and spend it with family!
Silly me.


I would love to blame the media.  Heaven knows they feed the frenzy. Out interviewing the idiots waiting in line on Wednesday. In the stores , with cameras and publicity and regalia and rigmarole on Thursday.
But, in this case, they are doing their job, somewhat. They are reporting on the news.
Not that there is anything "NEW" going on -- this is the fourth or fifth year for this nonsense.

I think they could help.
They don't need to report their precise location when they are broadcasting the Idiot's Lineup.
They don't need to tell everyone which mall they are covering.
They don't need to reveal sale items.

People want to be on tv (and You Tube) and they want to be known for getting good deals.
The stores want all the free publicity they get, and the News Outlets give them that in spades. They don't have to pay a penny.
It's all profit for them.

And that's all you are, if you are foolish enough, or maybe desperate enough (if you happen to be one of the slave wage laborers.)
You are profit.
You are dollar signs.
You are dollars.

You are not a person.
You are not a parent.
You are not a valued ... (customer, consumer, member of the team, part of the staff-- you choose.)

You are profit.

So -- how do you see yourself?

And did you spend your Thanksgiving stuffing your face or stuffing their already bulging wallets?

Hopeless; Helpless; this cannot be me

I have been making my way through the world for a very long time. Sometimes successfully, sometimes not so much. But every day led me into a tomorrow and any time there were changes, I was there, doing my best to make the changes be the ones I wanted.
Or at least to go in a direction that somehow resembled something I wanted or could hope t turn into what I wanted.

It didn't bother me too much when I didn't find work right away when I first lost my job, three years ago this month. Oh, I still put in applications on a regular basis, even had a couple of interviews. No job.

No job, but I had plenty of work to do at home. Rex was getting sicker, and needed me there. The truth of this was borne out when he ended up in the hospital in February. When he came out, Tammy had moved out, Tracy was gone, and it was just the two of us, and we began the journey of returning him to reasonable health, and we had enough for the two of us.

With his medicines and all the changes, it was not enough for a while, and then I got a handle on it again.
And we were good.

Time and more changes, and Rex would get a little more sick and recover to a point of a little less well.
But he was here for me and I for him.

My computer crashed, was replaced, the newer one crashed. And was replaced. We lost Internet service and re-established a connection.

Tracy came back , left again, returned again. Tammy did well, had troubles, recovered and slipped again, but maintained her home. Tammy had another baby.

And the baby was born, and Tracy was here, and once every couple of weeks I would fill out job applications, and no one was interested in hiring me. That was okay, because we were getting by and spending time together.
It was all we could do and we did it.

And then he died, and the whole world stopped.
The income stopped, but the bills did not.
The presence stopped, but life didn't.

I have filled out job applications  at least twice a week. Most places do not take paper in person applications anymore, which works out well when you can't afford to buy gas to go from place to place.

I've never had so much trouble trying to get a job.

And I don't know what else to do.
I just don't.
What else is there? If you have any ideas, please let me know.

I am not helpless. I CAN work; I WILL work.
But someone needs to hire me.

I'm not helpless, but hope is dwindling fast.
Nothing in my life is as it should be.
Nothing.

And I don't know what to do.
Or how to do more.

This cannot be me.
I do not give in to circumstance.
I learn to work with it.

I CAN learn to work with it; I WILL learn to work with it.

Hopeless; helpless; This cannot be me. This will not be me.

Little Guy's Handle on Handling

Our little guy has been slow to hold his own bottle. Here he is, eight months old (as good as) and trying to stand and walk on his own -- actually able to do both while holding on -- but not yet holding his own bottler. Doctor suggested getting him a sippy cup, which I did.

Some of this, I think, is from basic gender differences. Boys seem to learn gross motor skills before the fine ones. My children were both girls, and they did the holding on thing first and early, as far as I can remember. Hailey -- well, someone once gave her a pen or a crayon, and she hasn't put it down except to eat and sleep.
Now, I know that not all boys do it this way, and that some girls may very well ride a bicycle before they can feed themselves. I've been talking to experienced mothers and this is the conclusion I've reached.

Anyway.
Thanksgiving dinner at Tammy's house. (Yes, we shared the meal early. It's an ongoing difficult holiday for us this time around.)

We were waiting to eat, everybody moving around, doing things. I was playing with Warren, sitting him on the table and drinking from a can of pop. At one point, I out down the can of pop, and he made a beeline for that bright shiny can.
He got a hold on it.
And he picked it up, out it to his mouth and tilted it back!.

I called Tammy to come see, and she called the rest of the family, and they tried switching it out with the bottle. The bottle was a little heavier -- probably a lot heavier to the fifteen-pounder -- but he tried.
He really tried.

The best solution he could come up with was to anchor the bottle between his knees and put his mouth on the nipple. He didn't get much milk that way, but by golly, you sure could see the wheels turning behind his eyes.

He already knows how to go after someone -- he even goes down the hall in the trailer looking for his

mommy when she isn't in the room.

Yes, it's a big ol' world out here, Warren baby. It's a good thing to see you getting a handle on handling the "things" of this world.

Someday we may all learn how to handle the intangibles.

Until we do, we can usually find a baby to hug.