Snow Days

There's been a lot in the news -- and in the minds of parents -- about the 'excessive' number of snow days this prolonged snowy cold winter has been responsible for.

It's crazy. All the time and attention that the media and our lawmakers are giving to this consideration.
It's ridiculous.

The whole concept of education paid by the day is ridiculous. Children learn when they are interested, not between 9 and 3 on weekdays. Requiring so many days in a desk/chair is not, never has, and never will force learning.
Can you think of any other business where this is the model of operations?

I don't know the solution -- maybe not have school during January and extend it through June, before it gets hot.
We spend a lot of time teaching to the test (which isn't even a good test of learning) so maybe reaching year-end goals could be part of when to end the school year. Although that might require more real teaching than modern teachers are allowed to do.

Before modern times, school schedules were made at/for the families' convenience. In the agricultural society, school was scheduled around planting/harvesting times. Weather was also a consideration.

Above all else, the consideration was for our children. Too hot, too cold -- they stayed home. Roads unsafe, whether due to ice or floods or winds -- they stayed home.
Their health and safety was the vital deciding factor.

Not how many days they had been sitting in their assigned seat.

This is how we take care of our children?
This is how we "educate" them about what is important?

Now, some places figure their finances based on having so many seats filled for so many days. Nothing else matters in figuring costs and expenses. As well as the costs of schools being closed, and the costs of additional (unnecessary) day care, we can now add in the cost of legislating giving ourselves permission to keep our children home in inclement weather. There are no more important issues before our government. Death Penalty, Drug Wars, Bigotry, Hate Crimes -- our lawmakers are being paid to decide if we are allowed to use common sense in weather matters.
Why?
Because some bean counter says x seats = x dollars, and that's the way it is.
Because some statistician says "1 in 5" or "2 in 12 "or whatever numbers they can make do the tricks that push their platform?

I say, while they are wasting their time and our money over three to five days, why not take a long hard look at the whole 'requirement' system. And, of course, the way we pay for it.

Hints of Spring

It seems the winter may never end.
It will never stop snowing.
Snow will melt and freeze.

But, driving down the roads, one sees the signs of spring.
Not, as you may think, in the clearing, brimming ditches, or the yellowing of the willow limbs.
Nor in the increase in road kill or the presence of predators.

The real clue is in the garbage at the curb.
There are mattresses and couches and pots of desiccated plants.
There are outgrown toddler toys, often with a free sign taped on.
There is an old door there, and a busted window frame across the street. (Wonder if both or either of those homes houses any type of ball player?)
There are paint buckets and piles of tree limbs.

Gliders are being painted and left to dry on porches.
Cushion covers are being washed and cushions are fluffed and filled.
Swings are being rehung  -- or new swingsets  are going up.
Windows sparkle and doors stand ajar as in welcome.

Spring cleaning is a sure sign of spring, as all creatures leave their dens and begin to ramble, sometimes half-blind and half-starved (for what? Light, food, companionship? Does it matter?).
Winter's waste is being cleared away.
Light is being let in.
Life returns to bursting-at-the-seams.

Welcome Spring.
You old slowpoke, you.

"You Cannot Be Turned Down"

You can, however, be refused the payment you think you are investing in.

It's a gamble.

Of course, all insurance is a gamble. That more people will buy and pay in than will (whatever) and need to be paid. This is how insurance companies make money. 

Let us suppose that you need life insurance and can't get it through the usual agencies. Maybe you have a chronic condition which will (sooner rather than later) become terminal. You can't get life insurance, but you know that you -- or your family -- really need for you to have it.

So, you look into this "cannot be turned down" policy.

The commercials sound so good. "Only 9.97 per unit per month. About 35 cents a day."

BUT: a unit is $1,000.00 . 

Even a cremation setup costs around 2500--3000. So, even for an inexpensive service, you need three units per month. (A traditional funeral, done cheaply, runs between 5000 and 7000 .)

The price of your insurance has just trebled. At a minimum.

That leaves little if anything to help your family survive. You may have put yourself more at risk because you are trading in one of your medicines to be able to provide for your family after you have passed. 

The next phase has to do with your life expectancy.

If you die within the first year, your family gets nothing.

If you die before the second year ends, the insurance company, after having used your money for investment and interest profits, will generously payout to your loved ones every penny that you actually paid them. 

Not the number of units you purchased; not the coverage you were buying. Just what you paid for it. 24 months at $30 is $720. 

There are different companies with different time constraints -- one is six months/one year -- but they all do have these limits. Even your more standard policies have terms and restrictions as to what they will pay out, and when and why.

Add in all the paperwork and problems your family will have to deal with, as well. 

Ask yourself if this is truly the best choice you can make for your family.

Ask yourself if you think you will live long enough for them to profit from your investment.

It's a terrible burden to be dying and know you haven't left your family any resource for your final needs. I understand that -- you don't know how well I understand that. 

I just ask that, if you choose to go this route, please understand what you are doing. Please understand what your family will or will not collect. 

The odds are not in your (their) favor.

 

Roaring? Try Growling. Like a Tummy.

I went and got my little ones before the weather turned bad. The plan was to keep them if it seemed necessary, depending on the weather.

At least, that was the grown-ups plan. The little ones had something else in mind!(Not purposely.)

Friday night Warren cried and kicked like his belly hurt. Babies do that, and our water is different from theirs at home. No biggie, right. It was even funny when he spit up on me and Hailey while Tracy was holding him. Babies do that, too, after all.

Saturday was a wonderful together day, arguing with Hailey over the computer and the tv, wrassling around with Warren, who  was determined to chase down Tracy everywhere she tried to hide. That kid is really nuts about her. I think it must be the combo of Pappaw and Mommy, but it could be Tracy's childlike playful side.
Anyway, if she's in the house, Warren will track her down!
He also likes to walk under the curtains that are the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. He likes to step up over that little step, too.

Then came Saturday night, and one of the nightmares pf parenting. Hailey's belly started hurting and we couldn't make it stop. We tried warm packs and milk, and sipping diluted alka-seltzer -- that one sip was the only one she took, too. She didn't like the taste at all.
Soon enough the sick came out of her, and she immediately started wailing that she couldn't go to school with that brown stuff coming out! (They had sent a girl home from school Friday when she had the same problem.)
She also needed a shower! She had already had her bath, but Hails doesn't ask for  showers at Mammaws. She can get showers at home.

Poor little girl! I told her it was just a pookie bug and when it all came out she'd be okay.
She told me again that she couldn't go to school.
We were up all night with that pookie bug. I took a plastic pan into the bedroom with her/us, and she managed to use it as needed, crying all the time. I could tell she was really hurting, but any medicine came right back up.
Eventually she went to sleep, more dozing than real sleeping. I was grateful for that, you can believe. She was being pookie in my bed, and worrying herself about it. I told her me and her and the pillows and covers would all wash and to just get the sick out.

It was almost noon when we got up Sunday morning. Hailey was weak and wobbly, but no longer in pain and no longer sick.
When we got Bubby up, he didn't want to play.
ai thought it might just be a dozy day, getting ready for the "Titan" blast of winter.
Well, I hoped that was it.

Futilely, as it turns out.
The pookie bug had him too.
he wanted Mammaw.
he spiked a fever.
So I had to tell his mommy she needed to come and get them. Even put Warren on the phone with her.
Bapbapbap" he kept saying.
He and I had several bapbapbap conversations while he snuggled against me. He thought it was funny when  I'd say "Bap bap?" to his bapping.
Such a loving little bunchkin!

Eventually the sick caught up with him and got all over me.

Eventually (Titan was now upon us) the parents arrived. Of course by that time they were both in recovery mode, silly babies.

Of course it caught up with me too, Thank goodness the babies had gone home, that's what I say. I think Mammaw having the pookie bug would have scared Hailey half to death! Of course she could have helped take care of me. She would have liked that, I think.


But all is well now. She's back to school, he's back to toddling, and I'm back to sitting at the computer.

One more challenge met.

(I'm too old for this.)

March is Roaring In. (We Hope.)

March comes in like a lion, goes out like a lamb.
March comes in like a lamb, goes out like a lion.
Or so the saying goes.

As folk wisdom, it's pretty accurate. Especially if you don't insist on March's entry being 12:00m on March 1 of any given year.
The theory is the same as the groundhog seeing his shadow, just a month later.

Summer seems to come sooner and in a more orderly manner when Spring is a series of thaws and refreezes. When Springtime is a Battle for Supremacy against the forces of Old Man Winter.

So, we await one more winter storm, hoping it will be the last one. This one is possibly going to be the Worst of the Winter. A Last Blast.

I, for one, certainly, hope so.

The winter started early for me, with a death.
And there have been deaths all winter long. Few if any have been winter related, but that really doesn't matter. The winter of 2013-2014 has been the Deadly Winter to me. Even now I'm praying that it doesn't end with a (specific) death. I am afraid for my friend. (Any prayers or the equivalent that you offer I thank you for in friend's name.)

I hate this winter.
Hate it, hate it, hate it.

When March roars in, I will be standing on my porch (the one with the last storm's tree limb still thrown on  it) and I will be roaring right back.
"Good bye, good riddance you sorry old killer, you." I may even throw in a few bad words, if it won't shock anyone  too much. Or maybe even if it does.

Afterward, we can celebrate my daughter's birthday with no tornadoes and no blizzards, the way it usually happens.

Happy Birthday, Tammy.

Close the (Bathroom) Door, Already

Public restrooms.
Need I say more?

But of all the problems with public restrooms, amid the litter and the empty rolls and soaps, the most annoying thing I encounter is the doors that won't close and stay closed.

How hard can it be to make a door that latches? Pioneers did it with no (well, minimal) tools. A stick of wood, a slot for the stick, and a mechanism to lift the stick. Pretty basic, don't you think?

I guess that that is too simple in this modern mechanized age. Why make a simple latch when a complicated series of switches, tumblers, knobs, and dials will make us (public entities) look so much more avant-garde?

Never mind if they don't work properly -- or at all. We don't want people spending times in the bathrooms anyway, using up our toilet paper and running out our water. We don't have to provide restrooms anyway. We just do it as a courtesy. (And to avoid clean-ups in Aisle 13.)

Well, when I have the choice, I will choose a place that has a bathroom where the stall doors can be closed securely instead of a place careless of privacy.

The maintenance of the public restroom speaks clearly of how the business thinks of their customers. Are they worthy of work and time, or aren't they?

And do we, as consumers, need to know anything more?

Welcome Armaggedon

I think it is time.
The world should end.
For all of us.

The only reason I can't end my own world is because I can't inflict that pain on Hailey. I can't even wish for my world to end, because I can't inflict that pain on Hailey.

But if the world itself came to an end, Hailey would be there, too.
No pain for her, whatever there might be in the next world.

If there is such a thing.

She could see her Mammaw Candy
She could run and laugh and play with her Pappaw. She could hold his hand and they could walk to the park together.
Something she has wished for.

And Warren, he could get to know his Pappaw. The man he brought smiles to, the man who had him laughing. The man he called first "a-a" and then "yaya" while now, months later, none of us have names yet.
The man who lit up when the boy was put in his arms.
The light of love and the light of happiness.
Laughter is oh so much that same light.


For myself, I want NOTHING.
Rest and peace and nothing.

I am broken.
I have been broken for a very long time.
I have been broken so long that I doubt I can be fixed.

Those that would fix me can't; those that could fix me (maybe) won't.

And it really doesn't matter.

But if the world were to end, the whole world, we could all be NOT sorry, NOT guilty, NOT alone;abandoned;hurting.


But, for now, the world goes on.
There will be yet another endless tomorrow.
And another.

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