Yet another Paul Simon song title. That man was a poetic genius!
Fall is drawing to a close. The Holiday Season is fast upon us! But before I close this chapter I want to share something I've really appreciated this autumn. Something that has been hiding in plain sight until my eyes were opened to it.
The color brown.
Brown is SO underrated. To us it's the color of poo. The color of rot. Beige equals boring. Brown shoes don't make it.
Supposedly Inuit people have hundreds of words for snow. I wish I had that many for the browns I encountered.
Brown is beautiful. It's chocolate. Coffee with cream. Hot cocoa on a cold day.
First I was struck by the grasses and weeds. At the edge of town there's a park I have an affinity to. It's mostly grassland being allowed to return to its feral state. That's where I first discovered the palette. There were swales of grass that still clung to its green undercoat, but was topped with beautiful silvery brown stems. The whole field reminded me of wild rabbit fur, and looked just as soft. Here and there it was punctuated with stands of now cinnamon-hued weeds, and dark chocolate branches with whimsical spiky seed pods, and the soft oatmeal color of the towering plumed phragmites. A symphony of brown.
Then there were the trees.
The divas of autumn are the maple trees, which go out in blazes of fiery red, luminous yellow, and day-glo orange. Some turned a startling deep pink like undiluted frozen pink lemonade, or the inside of a ruby red grapefruit. Because the season has progressed in fits and starts I've noticed trees of multiple color, a crown of red fading to gold that transitions to green at the bottom. I saw what I think were hemlocks that were a mind-bending golden red against a crisp blue sky. And sweet gum leaves do some pretty amazing things with magenta and yellow. But my favorites by far this season have been the oaks.
One thing I've learned from having fashionista daughters is that dressing well is not about flash and sparkle. Someone in the know can spot a quality piece of clothing by its clean lines and good tailoring. It's tasteful. Less is more. Think Jackie Kennedy and her Oleg Cassini suits. Oak trees are the Jackie Kennedys of the woods. Classic and refined.
Their transition is far more subtle than the show-off trees. Some imperceptibly shift from green to bronze. I examined an oak that looked olive green at first glance, but was really composed of leaves that were still green, some that were soft brown, and some burnt orange. I drove under some oaks whose individual branches were two-toned: harvest gold on top and rich dark brown on the bottom. Some of the golden oaks had individual leaves lined with brown, looking like nothing so much as slightly over baked sugar cookies, which are the tastiest after all.
Again, I'm amazed by the variations on a theme and I struggle to describe the colors. Oak leaves have such an understated beauty. Some as dark as milk chocolate, others the soft brown of buckskin. A few turn the deep purple-red of Bing cherries. A stand of trees can be a wonderland of chestnut, mahogany, and bittersweet - each slightly different from the other.
Oaks are also loathe to drop their leaves, so the color lingers. While driving to work I noticed that the distant tree lines that are normally the smokey gray of bare limbs wore a distinctly russet tone.
Usually in February or March I start to rail against the monochromatic world, impatiently awaiting the green of spring. Maybe this year I'll stop and remind myself that it's brown. Like cinnamon-sugar toast and cappuccino.
Simply beautiful.
Friday, November 22, 2013
Sunday, November 3, 2013
A Primal Scream of Rage
So I was sitting in church. Standing, actually, because I sing with the choir and we were chanting a psalm. A psalm we had rehearsed earlier that morning. Then it happened - a verse jumped out at me. I could almost hear the "thwack" when it hit me between the eyes.
I've been really angry lately. I've been disheartened by some of the things going on in our country. I vote. I contact my elected representatives. But my congressional representative is a hard-core conservative, both fiscally and morally, and seems to have a fondness for the second amendment. In other words, he doesn't represent me at all and he's not going anywhere because my state is so heavily gerrymandered.
So when I feel my blood pressure getting a little low, I like to go onto his public facebook page. (Jim Jordan, Ohio District 4 if you want to check it out yourselves.) I like to post things and wait for the trolls to come feed. My game is to be as reasonable as possible. I even try to engage them in debate. At the very least, I do my best to avoid name-calling and cheap shots.
I've tried. I've really tried. But a person can only be nice for so long. Even Jesus lost his cool. He killed a fig tree when it didn't have figs on it EVEN THOUGH IT WAS NOT THE SEASON FOR FIGS. It must have been a bad day or something. He also rolled-up his sleeves, knotted the cord from his robe, and opened a can of whoop-ass on the moneychangers in the temple, overturning their tables. (Mark 11:12-21). Jesus had his limits. So do I.
For once I want to say what I really think. And it's not nice at all.
WARNING: Bad language and evil thoughts to follow.
Where to begin...let's start with Medicaid and the Affordable Care Act. What the fuck, people? It's not that big a deal. Insurance companies are still selling insurance, only now they have to follow rules. They have to actually help you, even if you're sick. They can't price-gouge and they have to actually spend some of their profit paying for health care. Young, healthy people are upset that they have to buy insurance? We all know that they NEVER suffer accidents or unforeseen illness. Truth - one of Tom and my dearest friends forewent health coverage when he was between jobs. He might have done differently if he'd known he was going to be diagnosed with an aggressive cancer. What we have now is not the more efficient single-payer system, but it's a step forward and I'm all for it.
Oh yeah. As part of the ACA states were allowed, at federal government expense, to expand their Medicaid programs to cover people who would be unable to purchase their own insurance. My Republican governor, with whom I do not agree very often, suggested that expanding Medicaid was the humane thing to do and put it in his budget. The pinhead Republicans in the legislature stripped it out fearing that, I don't know, they'd lose their jobs due to pinhead voters. And there are A LOT of them in Ohio. I e-mailed the governor my support on this issue, and I'm sure other organizations, like, say, the AMA, did the same. So what happened? He caved. He signed the budget without the Medicaid expansion and, for good measure, allowed specious abortion regulations because, dang-it, we gotta protect those babies. Once they're here, though, they're on their own.
OK. Now I'm getting warmed up. Let's talk about SNAP (Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program) now, shall we? Food stamps. Has the program grown explosively over the last decade. Hell, yes. Is that because the benefits are so generous and it's causing a culture of dependency? HELL NO! The rolls are up because poverty is up partly because the distribution of wealth is so mind-bogglingly skewed that the average citizen can't even grasp it, or what it means. GET IT THROUGH YOUR GOD DAMNED HEADS, FISCAL CONSERVATIVES OF ALL STRIPES, THAT THIS PROGRAM IS A SYMPTOM, NOT THE PROBLEM. Cutting the benefits will not magically make food appear on people's tables. Food pantries and meal programs are already running pretty much at capacity. Throwing people off the program directly, or indirectly by toughening the requirements, will only leave people hungry. And it also hurts the businesses, such as neighborhood groceries that serve low-income areas.
Do you believe the SNAP program should be cut by $39 billion dollars over the next 5 years? I have a challenge for you. Try feeding your family for an entire month on the SNAP allotment. Last I saw that means spending no more than $1.40 per person, per meal. But that's not all. Don't do any grocery shopping the week before you start because SNAP recipients don't necessarily have the benefit of starting with a well-stocked cupboard. To make it even more realistic, give up using your car. If you can't afford food you probably don't have the money to maintain and insure a car, or pay for gas. And public transportation is also off-limits unless you can scare up the cash for the fare. No using your bank account! You don't have one. So you can only get around by begging rides from other people. Ready, set, GO!
And after you've tried this get down on your knees and thank God that you only had to do this for one month.
You know who else has been really pissing me off? The gun lobby. No, not even just the NRA, but their evil minions. We had one raise hell in Oberlin. It started with a man openly carrying a firearm at the Oberlin Family Fun Fair, which, as the name implies, is a day of entertainment, street sales, and all kind of activities designed to be, well, you know, fun. Did I mention that it was during the day? That the downtown is full of people? And that Oberlin is a small town in a rural area? WHAT THE FUCK DID THAT GUY THINK HE WAS PROTECTING HIMSELF FROM??
That was just the beginning. It was just the opening salvo from Ohioans for Concealed Carry (I think it is), an organization that feels people should be allowed to carry any gun anywhere. Their next step was to sue the city for having an ordinance that bans firearms in the city parks. The city had to cave, of course, because our asshole high court had already upheld a challenge to such city laws. Just to rub salt in the wound, the local OCC Neanderthals had to have an open carry rally at one of our city parks, proudly playing with their toddlers while proudly displaying their guns on their hips. The local papers ran a sweet picture of a mother cradling her baby above her holster. I believe it was this same mother who left a loaded ammunition clip on a picnic table.
WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE!!!
This is where I get evil. So what am I to do when I'm hanging at the coffee shop and a guy walks in with an M-15? (This actually happened in Oberlin.) I guess I'm supposed to assume he's just a good American exercising his right to do whatever the fuck he wants to do with his gun, and wish him a good day. You know the problem with that? If I'm wrong about his intentions I could DIE. That's what. Mass shootings barely garner attention anymore, unless the shooter added their own unique twist to the situation, such as firing on federal agents a la the LAX shooter. As long as the victims are grown-ups it barely merits a yawn.
To make it worse? OCC is STILL suing Oberlin because we had the temerity to try to ban ILLEGAL weapons in the parks. Fuck you in the eye.
Refrain from anger, leave rage alone
do not fret yourself; it leads only to evil.
(Psalm 37: verse 8)
I've been really angry lately. I've been disheartened by some of the things going on in our country. I vote. I contact my elected representatives. But my congressional representative is a hard-core conservative, both fiscally and morally, and seems to have a fondness for the second amendment. In other words, he doesn't represent me at all and he's not going anywhere because my state is so heavily gerrymandered.
So when I feel my blood pressure getting a little low, I like to go onto his public facebook page. (Jim Jordan, Ohio District 4 if you want to check it out yourselves.) I like to post things and wait for the trolls to come feed. My game is to be as reasonable as possible. I even try to engage them in debate. At the very least, I do my best to avoid name-calling and cheap shots.
I've tried. I've really tried. But a person can only be nice for so long. Even Jesus lost his cool. He killed a fig tree when it didn't have figs on it EVEN THOUGH IT WAS NOT THE SEASON FOR FIGS. It must have been a bad day or something. He also rolled-up his sleeves, knotted the cord from his robe, and opened a can of whoop-ass on the moneychangers in the temple, overturning their tables. (Mark 11:12-21). Jesus had his limits. So do I.
For once I want to say what I really think. And it's not nice at all.
WARNING: Bad language and evil thoughts to follow.
Where to begin...let's start with Medicaid and the Affordable Care Act. What the fuck, people? It's not that big a deal. Insurance companies are still selling insurance, only now they have to follow rules. They have to actually help you, even if you're sick. They can't price-gouge and they have to actually spend some of their profit paying for health care. Young, healthy people are upset that they have to buy insurance? We all know that they NEVER suffer accidents or unforeseen illness. Truth - one of Tom and my dearest friends forewent health coverage when he was between jobs. He might have done differently if he'd known he was going to be diagnosed with an aggressive cancer. What we have now is not the more efficient single-payer system, but it's a step forward and I'm all for it.
Oh yeah. As part of the ACA states were allowed, at federal government expense, to expand their Medicaid programs to cover people who would be unable to purchase their own insurance. My Republican governor, with whom I do not agree very often, suggested that expanding Medicaid was the humane thing to do and put it in his budget. The pinhead Republicans in the legislature stripped it out fearing that, I don't know, they'd lose their jobs due to pinhead voters. And there are A LOT of them in Ohio. I e-mailed the governor my support on this issue, and I'm sure other organizations, like, say, the AMA, did the same. So what happened? He caved. He signed the budget without the Medicaid expansion and, for good measure, allowed specious abortion regulations because, dang-it, we gotta protect those babies. Once they're here, though, they're on their own.
OK. Now I'm getting warmed up. Let's talk about SNAP (Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program) now, shall we? Food stamps. Has the program grown explosively over the last decade. Hell, yes. Is that because the benefits are so generous and it's causing a culture of dependency? HELL NO! The rolls are up because poverty is up partly because the distribution of wealth is so mind-bogglingly skewed that the average citizen can't even grasp it, or what it means. GET IT THROUGH YOUR GOD DAMNED HEADS, FISCAL CONSERVATIVES OF ALL STRIPES, THAT THIS PROGRAM IS A SYMPTOM, NOT THE PROBLEM. Cutting the benefits will not magically make food appear on people's tables. Food pantries and meal programs are already running pretty much at capacity. Throwing people off the program directly, or indirectly by toughening the requirements, will only leave people hungry. And it also hurts the businesses, such as neighborhood groceries that serve low-income areas.
Do you believe the SNAP program should be cut by $39 billion dollars over the next 5 years? I have a challenge for you. Try feeding your family for an entire month on the SNAP allotment. Last I saw that means spending no more than $1.40 per person, per meal. But that's not all. Don't do any grocery shopping the week before you start because SNAP recipients don't necessarily have the benefit of starting with a well-stocked cupboard. To make it even more realistic, give up using your car. If you can't afford food you probably don't have the money to maintain and insure a car, or pay for gas. And public transportation is also off-limits unless you can scare up the cash for the fare. No using your bank account! You don't have one. So you can only get around by begging rides from other people. Ready, set, GO!
And after you've tried this get down on your knees and thank God that you only had to do this for one month.
You know who else has been really pissing me off? The gun lobby. No, not even just the NRA, but their evil minions. We had one raise hell in Oberlin. It started with a man openly carrying a firearm at the Oberlin Family Fun Fair, which, as the name implies, is a day of entertainment, street sales, and all kind of activities designed to be, well, you know, fun. Did I mention that it was during the day? That the downtown is full of people? And that Oberlin is a small town in a rural area? WHAT THE FUCK DID THAT GUY THINK HE WAS PROTECTING HIMSELF FROM??
That was just the beginning. It was just the opening salvo from Ohioans for Concealed Carry (I think it is), an organization that feels people should be allowed to carry any gun anywhere. Their next step was to sue the city for having an ordinance that bans firearms in the city parks. The city had to cave, of course, because our asshole high court had already upheld a challenge to such city laws. Just to rub salt in the wound, the local OCC Neanderthals had to have an open carry rally at one of our city parks, proudly playing with their toddlers while proudly displaying their guns on their hips. The local papers ran a sweet picture of a mother cradling her baby above her holster. I believe it was this same mother who left a loaded ammunition clip on a picnic table.
WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE!!!
This is where I get evil. So what am I to do when I'm hanging at the coffee shop and a guy walks in with an M-15? (This actually happened in Oberlin.) I guess I'm supposed to assume he's just a good American exercising his right to do whatever the fuck he wants to do with his gun, and wish him a good day. You know the problem with that? If I'm wrong about his intentions I could DIE. That's what. Mass shootings barely garner attention anymore, unless the shooter added their own unique twist to the situation, such as firing on federal agents a la the LAX shooter. As long as the victims are grown-ups it barely merits a yawn.
To make it worse? OCC is STILL suing Oberlin because we had the temerity to try to ban ILLEGAL weapons in the parks. Fuck you in the eye.
Refrain from anger, leave rage alone
do not fret yourself; it leads only to evil.
And this is where the evil comes in. I see these messed-up people with their beautiful children and I think "What would happen if the toddler found one of those ammunition clips? What if in a few years they sneak and play with a gun without their parents knowing? What if one of those children grows up to be a moody teenager with suicidal thoughts? What happens if one of these OCC people shoots one of their children mistaking him or her for a criminal?"
Here's where the evil sets in. I want it to happen. I'm not a COMPLETE monster. How about nobody dies, maybe just gets winged a bit. Although I'd be willing to bet that even if it happened it wouldn't change any minds. The kids are innocent and I feel badly for them. I have zero sympathy for those parents.
And that's the problem with rage. I hate feeling this way. I am ashamed that I would ever wish harm on children. OK. Maybe the kids could be playing with the gun and accidentally shoot a parent.
It only leads to evil.
I went back and re-read the psalm passage, and this time the whole thing spoke directly to my heart. For the sake of brevity, I'm omitting verses 3-6 which admonish us to rejoice in the Lord, basically, and all sorts of good things will happen.
Psalm 37: 1-2, 7-10
Do not fret yourself because of evildoers;
do not be jealous of those who do wrong.
For they shall soon wither like the grass,
and like the green grass fade away.
Be still before the LORD
and wait patiently for him.
Do not fret yourself over the one who prospers,
the one who succeeds in evil schemes.
Refrain from anger, leave rage alone;
do not fret yourself; it leads only to evil.
for evildoers shall be cut off,
but those who wait upon the LORD shall possess the land.
I'm feeling a bit better.
And how are you?
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Elegy
Poverty claimed another victim yesterday. Her name was Denise.
I did her intake paperwork when she came to the shelter. I'm not sure I've ever talked to anyone who was so definite about not taking it anymore. She left and did not look back.
Denise quickly earned the reputation of being a Debbie Downer, definitely a glass half-empty kind of person. In her case I guess I couldn't blame her. She'd been married before, not happily. An abusive marriage, as I recall. Somehow in that divorce she wound up having to pay child support, an obligation her current husband didn't want her to meet. For that she lost her driver's license and gained thousands of dollars of debt she couldn't shake. Even after her children were grown. Even after they had income, and she didn't. They didn't have anything to do with her.
Denise always expected the worst and obsessed over the next thing that was going to go wrong.
She tried. She called Legal Aid and filed for divorce. She called the child support bureau and was able to get her driver's license back. No car, however, and they still wanted her to make payments. Hers was our most difficult demographic: Over 40, adult children, no income. No public cash benefits and no Medicaid eligibility. After a stint at the homeless shelter she finally got an apartment through public housing. Great, except for the fact that even though she had no income she owed $20 a month in rent.
Well why didn't she just get a job? Difficult when you don't have a car and live in the downtown of a severely economically depressed city. Believe me when I say there is NOTHING going on within walking distance. Nothing legal, anyway.
Then, of course, there were her medical issues. She had multiple complaints. She needed new glasses. Her dental partial was broken. She had fibromyalgia and insomnia. She had an old prescription for blood pressure medication. Her husband didn't like her going to the doctor so she had a bottle of medication she would take sparingly so it would last.
She needed income. She needed medical care. I helped her file for SSI figuring she had a shot of being found disabled due to her untreated psychological issues, at the very least she was quite depressed, and her blood pressure which she described as being very high. I also helped her apply for treatment at our county's free clinic since she had no income or insurance.
Because she was so unrelentingly negative I just wanted SOMETHING to go her way. She was accepted at the clinic. At that point she'd left us and was staying at the homeless shelter. The first thing the clinic did was send her for all sorts of cardiac testing. Then they sent her for an opthalmology evaluation since optic nerve damage is one side effect of uncontrolled hypertension. I tried to help her all I could. I gave her a ride to the opthamologist even though it was my day off.
After she got in my car she checked her phone and realized she had a message from the free clinic. It was the secretary telling her she was no longer eligible for services and that she was to surrender her card immediately. Why? Because she had filed for SSI! I was so stunned I actually took the phone from her and talked to them myself. One question on the application is "Are you disabled?" She answered "no." In my legalistic mind that was correct because she had not yet been determined by any agency to be disabled. But apparently once they received paperwork from Social Security about her claim, the clinic must have felt she lied.
I felt terrible. I was the one who suggested she file for SSI. She was supposed to have an appointment the following day to review the results of her testing. I tried. I think I asked to talk to a supervisor. I finally pointed out that Denise was currently in my car on her way to an opthalmology appointment for possible eye damage DUE TO HER UNTREATED HIGH BLOOD PRESSURE.
They said she could go to the opthalmology appointment. But then they were done. She was not eligible to go to the follow-up appointment the next day.
I did not give up the fight, but I won't bore you with the details. By literally sobbing on the phone with the clinic director I convinced them to allow her to get the new eye glasses that had been prescribed for her. But no office visit. No blood pressure medication.
I went with her to her initial divorce hearing. Her husband, who henceforth I will refer to as Hillbilly Weasel, openly stated that he had no intention of giving her anything. Not that they had much, but she left home with nothing more than some clothes, her important papers, and what medication she had. He still had a place to live, a job, and insurance.
He was ordered to pay spousal support. Of course he didn't.
In February, I think it was, I received a panicked message from Denise. She was on her way to the hospital. She hadn't been feeling well so a nurse in her building (it has an assisted living unit) checked her blood pressure. It was 300+ over 200+. The hospital admitted to bring it back under control. A day or two later she was discharged. Without any follow-up care. Without any medication.
Eventually her husband's wages were garnished to collect the support money. He was ordered to pay $500 a month. She only received $200. Our best guess was that some of the money (over half) was being kept by the child support agency for her outstanding balance. She could get the debt forgiven, but only with the permission of her ex-husband. She had no idea where he was or how to contact him. So who was the child support bureau giving the money to? If they knew how to reach her ex they weren't telling her. We never did solve that mystery.
Which was OK because after about 2 months the support checks stopped. Her husband had applied for disability through his job and wasn't turning in the paperwork to start the payments. Denise heard rumors her husband had a new girlfriend. Denise's son from this marriage still lived with Dad and thus tended to side with him. I met him and can vouch for the fact that he is not the sharpest tool in the shed. The apple did not fall far from the Hillbilly tree. Even though the son was adult and had his own job, he never offered to help his mom. He did tell her, though, that Dad had gotten a new car while she was living on nothing but food stamps.
I did what I could. I set her up with donated furniture for her apartment. In my job as the aftercare worker at the shelter I provided cleaning supplies, toiletries, and even niceties such as body spray and candles from our donations when we had them. She tried to do little cleaning jobs under the table to earn rent money. She was obsessed with possibly being evicted. Truth be told I paid her rent one month. I'd even slipped her $5 - $10 dollars on occasion so she could do laundry, or buy cigarettes.
Most times I saw her she complained of having a headache.
Her husband did eventually provide her with an insurance card. I urged her to see a doctor. She tried to call the clinic she used to go to but felt like she couldn't get an answer from them about how much her co-pay would be. She found out that the private physician she'd seen years ago would take her insurance, but with a $20 co-pay for office visits. If she had to choose between her rent and the doctor, she chose the rent.
The last time I saw her was Saturday, May 18th. Some days she'd almost seemed happy, but that evening she seemed down. She was frustrated. She couldn't understand how her husband was getting away with not paying the support that the court ordered. She suspected that he'd filed his tax return and kept his whole refund. There wasn't going to be another hearing on the matter until June 10th. I marked it on my calendar. I visited her that night to get her signature on a release of information so I could contact her lawyer to find out what was going on and what her options were. I tried to point out to her that difficult as things were right now, she needed to compare her situation to where she was a year ago. At least she had her own apartment. No one was belittling her or hurting her. She was looking into getting her GED and possibly getting certification for being a nursing aide. I wanted her to know things would get better.
Now she's gone.
I heard about her death from her attorney, who said she had gotten a message from Denise's husband saying she'd died of a brain aneurysm. Apparently he sounded choked up by the end of the message. I didn't want to believe it. I wanted it to be Hillbilly Weasel's way of avoiding contempt of court. He struck me as being stupid enough to try it. I called Denise's cell phone, but it said she was unavailable. I knew her phone was running out of minutes and was being shut-off. I went to her apartment building and no one knew anything about it. I knocked on her door. No answer.
I came back to the shelter and called a friend she'd listed as an emergency contact. I asked her if she'd heard from Denise lately. There was a very long pause. Finally she told me that I'd better sit down.
It was true.
According to the friend Denise had been stricken in her apartment. She was taken to the local hospital then life-flighted to Cleveland. Her friend said that Denise had never flown on an airplane, and mused whether she had been able to appreciate her helicopter ride. Once in Cleveland it was determined that she was brain dead. It was probably her husband's decision to pull the plug. Denise died within two minutes of being taken off of life support.
Apparently her husband is now playing the part of the bereaved widower. He told her friend that they'd made-up a few days before she died. Really she wanted him in prison. But then he turned and accused Denise of having an affair, although the fact that he already has a girlfriend is common knowledge.
I don't think I'll be able to attend the funeral. He'll be there, crying, saying how he always loved her. Not enough, apparently, to return her beloved pet parrot to her. Not enough to give her money which may have enabled her to get the medical care she so desperately needed.
The medical care which maybe could have saved her life.
In one sense, he won. Now that she's gone the divorce action is likely moot and no one will be coming after his money anymore. He can grieve openly and curry sympathy from those who don't know better, then take comfort in his girlfriend.
I drove home under a sky that was a mosaic of storm clouds and golden rays from the setting sun. The closer I got to home the more evident it was that it had rained. It was warm and humid and a mist was rising from the pavement. It collected in blankets on the farm fields. I imagined it was a shroud, or the formless beings of souls who were finally at peace.
I take comfort in the fact that she did have a measure of freedom before the end. She had made some friends. She called me Katy Claus because I had provided so much. She knew that someone cared.
Her struggles are over.
I will never forget.
I did her intake paperwork when she came to the shelter. I'm not sure I've ever talked to anyone who was so definite about not taking it anymore. She left and did not look back.
Denise quickly earned the reputation of being a Debbie Downer, definitely a glass half-empty kind of person. In her case I guess I couldn't blame her. She'd been married before, not happily. An abusive marriage, as I recall. Somehow in that divorce she wound up having to pay child support, an obligation her current husband didn't want her to meet. For that she lost her driver's license and gained thousands of dollars of debt she couldn't shake. Even after her children were grown. Even after they had income, and she didn't. They didn't have anything to do with her.
Denise always expected the worst and obsessed over the next thing that was going to go wrong.
She tried. She called Legal Aid and filed for divorce. She called the child support bureau and was able to get her driver's license back. No car, however, and they still wanted her to make payments. Hers was our most difficult demographic: Over 40, adult children, no income. No public cash benefits and no Medicaid eligibility. After a stint at the homeless shelter she finally got an apartment through public housing. Great, except for the fact that even though she had no income she owed $20 a month in rent.
Well why didn't she just get a job? Difficult when you don't have a car and live in the downtown of a severely economically depressed city. Believe me when I say there is NOTHING going on within walking distance. Nothing legal, anyway.
Then, of course, there were her medical issues. She had multiple complaints. She needed new glasses. Her dental partial was broken. She had fibromyalgia and insomnia. She had an old prescription for blood pressure medication. Her husband didn't like her going to the doctor so she had a bottle of medication she would take sparingly so it would last.
She needed income. She needed medical care. I helped her file for SSI figuring she had a shot of being found disabled due to her untreated psychological issues, at the very least she was quite depressed, and her blood pressure which she described as being very high. I also helped her apply for treatment at our county's free clinic since she had no income or insurance.
Because she was so unrelentingly negative I just wanted SOMETHING to go her way. She was accepted at the clinic. At that point she'd left us and was staying at the homeless shelter. The first thing the clinic did was send her for all sorts of cardiac testing. Then they sent her for an opthalmology evaluation since optic nerve damage is one side effect of uncontrolled hypertension. I tried to help her all I could. I gave her a ride to the opthamologist even though it was my day off.
After she got in my car she checked her phone and realized she had a message from the free clinic. It was the secretary telling her she was no longer eligible for services and that she was to surrender her card immediately. Why? Because she had filed for SSI! I was so stunned I actually took the phone from her and talked to them myself. One question on the application is "Are you disabled?" She answered "no." In my legalistic mind that was correct because she had not yet been determined by any agency to be disabled. But apparently once they received paperwork from Social Security about her claim, the clinic must have felt she lied.
I felt terrible. I was the one who suggested she file for SSI. She was supposed to have an appointment the following day to review the results of her testing. I tried. I think I asked to talk to a supervisor. I finally pointed out that Denise was currently in my car on her way to an opthalmology appointment for possible eye damage DUE TO HER UNTREATED HIGH BLOOD PRESSURE.
They said she could go to the opthalmology appointment. But then they were done. She was not eligible to go to the follow-up appointment the next day.
I did not give up the fight, but I won't bore you with the details. By literally sobbing on the phone with the clinic director I convinced them to allow her to get the new eye glasses that had been prescribed for her. But no office visit. No blood pressure medication.
I went with her to her initial divorce hearing. Her husband, who henceforth I will refer to as Hillbilly Weasel, openly stated that he had no intention of giving her anything. Not that they had much, but she left home with nothing more than some clothes, her important papers, and what medication she had. He still had a place to live, a job, and insurance.
He was ordered to pay spousal support. Of course he didn't.
In February, I think it was, I received a panicked message from Denise. She was on her way to the hospital. She hadn't been feeling well so a nurse in her building (it has an assisted living unit) checked her blood pressure. It was 300+ over 200+. The hospital admitted to bring it back under control. A day or two later she was discharged. Without any follow-up care. Without any medication.
Eventually her husband's wages were garnished to collect the support money. He was ordered to pay $500 a month. She only received $200. Our best guess was that some of the money (over half) was being kept by the child support agency for her outstanding balance. She could get the debt forgiven, but only with the permission of her ex-husband. She had no idea where he was or how to contact him. So who was the child support bureau giving the money to? If they knew how to reach her ex they weren't telling her. We never did solve that mystery.
Which was OK because after about 2 months the support checks stopped. Her husband had applied for disability through his job and wasn't turning in the paperwork to start the payments. Denise heard rumors her husband had a new girlfriend. Denise's son from this marriage still lived with Dad and thus tended to side with him. I met him and can vouch for the fact that he is not the sharpest tool in the shed. The apple did not fall far from the Hillbilly tree. Even though the son was adult and had his own job, he never offered to help his mom. He did tell her, though, that Dad had gotten a new car while she was living on nothing but food stamps.
I did what I could. I set her up with donated furniture for her apartment. In my job as the aftercare worker at the shelter I provided cleaning supplies, toiletries, and even niceties such as body spray and candles from our donations when we had them. She tried to do little cleaning jobs under the table to earn rent money. She was obsessed with possibly being evicted. Truth be told I paid her rent one month. I'd even slipped her $5 - $10 dollars on occasion so she could do laundry, or buy cigarettes.
Most times I saw her she complained of having a headache.
Her husband did eventually provide her with an insurance card. I urged her to see a doctor. She tried to call the clinic she used to go to but felt like she couldn't get an answer from them about how much her co-pay would be. She found out that the private physician she'd seen years ago would take her insurance, but with a $20 co-pay for office visits. If she had to choose between her rent and the doctor, she chose the rent.
The last time I saw her was Saturday, May 18th. Some days she'd almost seemed happy, but that evening she seemed down. She was frustrated. She couldn't understand how her husband was getting away with not paying the support that the court ordered. She suspected that he'd filed his tax return and kept his whole refund. There wasn't going to be another hearing on the matter until June 10th. I marked it on my calendar. I visited her that night to get her signature on a release of information so I could contact her lawyer to find out what was going on and what her options were. I tried to point out to her that difficult as things were right now, she needed to compare her situation to where she was a year ago. At least she had her own apartment. No one was belittling her or hurting her. She was looking into getting her GED and possibly getting certification for being a nursing aide. I wanted her to know things would get better.
Now she's gone.
I heard about her death from her attorney, who said she had gotten a message from Denise's husband saying she'd died of a brain aneurysm. Apparently he sounded choked up by the end of the message. I didn't want to believe it. I wanted it to be Hillbilly Weasel's way of avoiding contempt of court. He struck me as being stupid enough to try it. I called Denise's cell phone, but it said she was unavailable. I knew her phone was running out of minutes and was being shut-off. I went to her apartment building and no one knew anything about it. I knocked on her door. No answer.
I came back to the shelter and called a friend she'd listed as an emergency contact. I asked her if she'd heard from Denise lately. There was a very long pause. Finally she told me that I'd better sit down.
It was true.
According to the friend Denise had been stricken in her apartment. She was taken to the local hospital then life-flighted to Cleveland. Her friend said that Denise had never flown on an airplane, and mused whether she had been able to appreciate her helicopter ride. Once in Cleveland it was determined that she was brain dead. It was probably her husband's decision to pull the plug. Denise died within two minutes of being taken off of life support.
Apparently her husband is now playing the part of the bereaved widower. He told her friend that they'd made-up a few days before she died. Really she wanted him in prison. But then he turned and accused Denise of having an affair, although the fact that he already has a girlfriend is common knowledge.
I don't think I'll be able to attend the funeral. He'll be there, crying, saying how he always loved her. Not enough, apparently, to return her beloved pet parrot to her. Not enough to give her money which may have enabled her to get the medical care she so desperately needed.
The medical care which maybe could have saved her life.
In one sense, he won. Now that she's gone the divorce action is likely moot and no one will be coming after his money anymore. He can grieve openly and curry sympathy from those who don't know better, then take comfort in his girlfriend.
I drove home under a sky that was a mosaic of storm clouds and golden rays from the setting sun. The closer I got to home the more evident it was that it had rained. It was warm and humid and a mist was rising from the pavement. It collected in blankets on the farm fields. I imagined it was a shroud, or the formless beings of souls who were finally at peace.
I take comfort in the fact that she did have a measure of freedom before the end. She had made some friends. She called me Katy Claus because I had provided so much. She knew that someone cared.
Her struggles are over.
I will never forget.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Misadventures in Misbehaving or Why I'm One of Those Militant Ex-Smokers (A Cautionary Tale)
Ever have one of those times in your life when you feel so tired of being tired and stressed that you just want to do something crazy? When even gorging on chocolate isn't doing it for you anymore? Well I do. And I live in a small town so there aren't many opportunities to act up, at least not without everyone finding out about it. So I had, what seemed at the time, to be a great idea.
I smoked a cigarette.
I know. Bad, right?
In the interest of full disclosure I must make it clear that it wasn't the first time these lips have touched tobacco. But the other times were decades ago and generally involved large amounts of beer, to the best of my recollection.
Then there was the brief infatuation with clove cigarettes in my college years. At the time they were indescribably cool with their vaguely incense-y smell and not being tobacco. But the stale smoke in the dorm room was not nearly as pleasing an aroma, and one time I actually inhaled and came dangerously close to throwing up. It put an abrupt end to that phase of my life.
But now I was feeling reckless.
The first obstacle was buying cigarettes. I think I understand brand loyalty now. I think your favorite cigarette type is the one that you snuck as a delinquent teen because it's the only one you can accurately identify. For a ridiculously old novice like me, this was a challenge. I had seen a sign for Newports somewhere, and I thought "Yeah. Newports. Menthol. Probably good for a cigarette weenie like me. I'll just walk in and ask for Newports." Because, as you all know, dangerous substances such as these are kept behind the counter so you have to ask. No browsing and thinking "This looks good." So Newports. I'd ask for Newports.
Except once I walked in I noticed there were short Newports, long Newports, and Newports in dark aqua, light aqua, blue, and red packs. There was no way to play it cool. I had to ask. The clerk looked at me with a kind of horrified pity. Dark aqua was regular, light aqua was light, and blue was ultra-light. Never did find out what the red was. I opted for the ultra-light as a novice. (The tall ones, of course. I'm sure there's some kind of lingo for that of which I'm not aware.) The Zima of cigarettes. I swear the clerk's eyes were pleading with me not to do this as he took my money.
The next step was finding someplace to do the dastardly deed. My house, of course, was out of the question! I tried to go to my favorite nature preserve that has a pond where I've enjoyed bird-watching, but the pond was frozen and the park closed. I ended up at a cemetery. The irony was not lost on me.
OK. Time to be cool and rebellious. I actually got it lit. To be honest, after the first couple of puffs I thought "Not too bad." I think because my brain was becoming oxygen-deprived from the carbon monoxide (the existence of which was reassuringly pointed out on the package), I actually felt vaguely pleasant and light-headed. Then I noticed the smell.
Oh yeah. I don't actually enjoy the aroma of cigarette smoke. I caught myself trying to stand upwind of the hand with the cigarette. Sure, I'll put it in my lungs, but don't make me smell it.
A few puffs later and the pleasant light-headedness was morphing into a more uncomfortable dizziness, with just a touch of nausea thrown in.
I pretty much finished it, rolled it in a puddle to be sure it was out, and threw it away. I drove away with a 3 ibuprofen headache and a scratchy throat. Not pleasant.
And there, again, was the smell. I couldn't escape it! I had been standing by my car with the window open listening to my incredibly cool music while channeling my inner James Dean. Now I was convinced that the car reeked, so despite the chill in the air I had to drive with the windows open and the heater on full-blast. But it was caught in my hair, in my coat. I thought I had aired-out pretty well, but while I was grocery shopping I happened to scratch my nose and was overwhelmed all over again by that smell. It did not conjure enjoyable sensations. I found a random wetnap in my car and scrubbed my hands.
I thought to myself, wow. People spend their hard-earned money for this. They stand outside in the cold, in rain, in searing heat for this. People do this despite practically being social pariahs. They risk cancer for this. I don't get it.
I guess the only upside to the whole experience is that I think I'm back to myself. I'm a middle-aged mom with middle-aged fashion sense living a pretty middle-aged life. There's really nothing all that "cool" about me. Well, I do have a pretty twisted sense of humor, I'll give myself that. But I'm well past the rebellion stage. At this point it's just mid-life crisis, and a pretty pathetic one at that. Lesson learned.
Guess I'll take the remainder of the pack to the shelter where a desperate, stressed-out woman who can't afford more cigs might actually appreciate them. Although when I offer an ultra-light Newport, I fully expect she may just snort, then pass 'cuz they're so lame. {sigh}
And how are you?
I smoked a cigarette.
I know. Bad, right?
In the interest of full disclosure I must make it clear that it wasn't the first time these lips have touched tobacco. But the other times were decades ago and generally involved large amounts of beer, to the best of my recollection.
Then there was the brief infatuation with clove cigarettes in my college years. At the time they were indescribably cool with their vaguely incense-y smell and not being tobacco. But the stale smoke in the dorm room was not nearly as pleasing an aroma, and one time I actually inhaled and came dangerously close to throwing up. It put an abrupt end to that phase of my life.
But now I was feeling reckless.
The first obstacle was buying cigarettes. I think I understand brand loyalty now. I think your favorite cigarette type is the one that you snuck as a delinquent teen because it's the only one you can accurately identify. For a ridiculously old novice like me, this was a challenge. I had seen a sign for Newports somewhere, and I thought "Yeah. Newports. Menthol. Probably good for a cigarette weenie like me. I'll just walk in and ask for Newports." Because, as you all know, dangerous substances such as these are kept behind the counter so you have to ask. No browsing and thinking "This looks good." So Newports. I'd ask for Newports.
Except once I walked in I noticed there were short Newports, long Newports, and Newports in dark aqua, light aqua, blue, and red packs. There was no way to play it cool. I had to ask. The clerk looked at me with a kind of horrified pity. Dark aqua was regular, light aqua was light, and blue was ultra-light. Never did find out what the red was. I opted for the ultra-light as a novice. (The tall ones, of course. I'm sure there's some kind of lingo for that of which I'm not aware.) The Zima of cigarettes. I swear the clerk's eyes were pleading with me not to do this as he took my money.
The next step was finding someplace to do the dastardly deed. My house, of course, was out of the question! I tried to go to my favorite nature preserve that has a pond where I've enjoyed bird-watching, but the pond was frozen and the park closed. I ended up at a cemetery. The irony was not lost on me.
OK. Time to be cool and rebellious. I actually got it lit. To be honest, after the first couple of puffs I thought "Not too bad." I think because my brain was becoming oxygen-deprived from the carbon monoxide (the existence of which was reassuringly pointed out on the package), I actually felt vaguely pleasant and light-headed. Then I noticed the smell.
Oh yeah. I don't actually enjoy the aroma of cigarette smoke. I caught myself trying to stand upwind of the hand with the cigarette. Sure, I'll put it in my lungs, but don't make me smell it.
A few puffs later and the pleasant light-headedness was morphing into a more uncomfortable dizziness, with just a touch of nausea thrown in.
I pretty much finished it, rolled it in a puddle to be sure it was out, and threw it away. I drove away with a 3 ibuprofen headache and a scratchy throat. Not pleasant.
And there, again, was the smell. I couldn't escape it! I had been standing by my car with the window open listening to my incredibly cool music while channeling my inner James Dean. Now I was convinced that the car reeked, so despite the chill in the air I had to drive with the windows open and the heater on full-blast. But it was caught in my hair, in my coat. I thought I had aired-out pretty well, but while I was grocery shopping I happened to scratch my nose and was overwhelmed all over again by that smell. It did not conjure enjoyable sensations. I found a random wetnap in my car and scrubbed my hands.
I thought to myself, wow. People spend their hard-earned money for this. They stand outside in the cold, in rain, in searing heat for this. People do this despite practically being social pariahs. They risk cancer for this. I don't get it.
I guess the only upside to the whole experience is that I think I'm back to myself. I'm a middle-aged mom with middle-aged fashion sense living a pretty middle-aged life. There's really nothing all that "cool" about me. Well, I do have a pretty twisted sense of humor, I'll give myself that. But I'm well past the rebellion stage. At this point it's just mid-life crisis, and a pretty pathetic one at that. Lesson learned.
Guess I'll take the remainder of the pack to the shelter where a desperate, stressed-out woman who can't afford more cigs might actually appreciate them. Although when I offer an ultra-light Newport, I fully expect she may just snort, then pass 'cuz they're so lame. {sigh}
And how are you?
Sunday, January 27, 2013
No Boundaries - A Vignette
It had been a long week and I was really tired. It was the end of the month and people had been running out of food and household supplies and I had been doing a lot of extracurricular running around. It's just me. I will go above and beyond the call of duty to help another person. It's what makes me good, and bad, at what I do. I admitted to myself that it was making me tired and bringing me down. I had to start looking out for myself. I was already over an hour late getting home, and I had one more delivery to make. I had swung by our outreach building where we store our donations to pick something up. I decided to text my family to let them know that I was OK and would be home soon.
Let me set the scene: It was 8:30 or 9 o'clock at night, so dark. It was snowing big, fluffy snowflakes, and it was cold enough that the snow stayed on the roads and sidewalks making everything deceptively slippery. I was sitting in my car bathed in the vaguely orange glow of a streetlight at the edge of the parking lot. A couple of people were trudging along the sidewalk as I typed.
When I looked up the two walking people were standing by my car, peering in my window.
Let me further set the scene. I was in the city of Lorain, Ohio. Lorain was a hub of the steel industry, and when US Steel collapsed, so did Lorain. The downtown is mostly empty storefronts, bars, and criminal defense attorneys. Lorain is depressed, and not just economically. For being a reasonably small city it has all the urban blight, decay, and crime as it's bigger cousin Cleveland, but with less positive assets. (Apologies if any of you folks are from Lorain, but, really, am I wrong?)
I felt a certain sinking feeling as I saw those people standing by my car. It was with something of a sense of misgiving that I rolled down my window.
It was a young couple, a woman and man. As soon as I opened my window the woman started talking. Please, she said. I'm 5 months pregnant and I'm having really bad pain. When I get home I think I'll need to call an ambulance. Please. Could you give us a ride home?
Another thing I need to point out. I was not in a particularly good neighborhood, but instead a rather sad area with abandoned houses and houses you just wished no one had to live in. Across the street from our building is a junkyard and a few vacant lots. It's on a corner. There's a self-serve car wash about a block away. In other words, pretty isolated.
I had two simultaneous thoughts: 1) This could be the beginning of a really horrible crime, and 2) I really just want to go home.
I gestured with my phone. Is there someone I could call for you? Would you like to use my phone to call somebody? ("And just keep it if you want," I thought.)
The woman looked down at me. "Can't we just get a ride? Please?"
She didn't look particularly pregnant from my vantage point, but she was wearing a winter coat. It occurred to me that this would be the perfect cover story to lure a kind-hearted soul into trouble. Despite my general peace-loving nature, I'm a huge fan of Criminal Minds. I know how this works.
I looked into the pleading brown eyes. I pictured myself saying "Sorry," rolling up my window, and driving away.
"Alright," I said.
I was chuckling to myself as they climbed into the back seat of my car, gushing thank-yous. As I said before, I was delivering stuff to my aftercare clients so my front seat was stuffed with toilet paper, paper towels, laundry detergent, and dish soap. In the back seat I had a bag of donated shoes. They were destined for Goodwill, but I hadn't dropped them off yet and the bag had somehow upended. There was a big sheet of black plastic leftover from a mattress I had hauled a few days before.
They said it was only about 5 blocks away. Now, about where we were headed...I was driving down a somewhat well-used thoroughfare that is crossed by little residential streets. A railroad track cuts through the area so most of these little streets dead-end into the railroad right-of-way, a no-mans-land of scrub and trees. Again, the perfect place for a crime.
As we were driving the woman kept up her nervous chatter. She had suffered a terrible kidney infection prior to getting pregnant, so now she was always worried about her health. She was having these really bad cramps and she didn't know why. She and the young man (baby daddy?) sat in the back, holding hands. I came to their street and he told me to turn left. As soon as I did, he said "Sorry, I was wrong. I meant right." There were a few houses with lights on, and at the end was a church. I pulled into the empty parking lot to turn around. "Please don't have a gun," I thought. I'm really scared of guns. I wondered if they tried to rob me if I could buy them off with toilet paper. It's a precious commodity. You can't buy it with food stamps.
Once we were headed in the right direction, the woman said to me "You're really nice. You're family is really lucky. Do you have kids of your own?" I glanced back at her in the rearview and told her I was probably old enough to be her mother. "I'm 22!" she chirped. Yes, I was definitely old enough. "You don't look it, ma'am!" the young man added. I smiled and thanked him.
He indicated that they were going to the house at the end of the street, again right where the road met the woods. Sure, I was kinda nervous, but mostly tired, and kinda resigned. Again I found myself hoping that they didn't have a gun. I would be happy giving them anything I had.
At last I reached a house with lights on and a row of cars parked in front. The young man directed me to the end of the row to park, right by the woods. They thanked me, slipped out of the car and stumbled up to one of the lit-up doorways. Before they got out I wished them good luck with everything.
And that was that.
I didn't want to tell my family what I had done that night. I thought they might be upset about my recklessness. When I told a co-worker a few days later she confirmed it. "What?!? That was crazy! You were lucky! You shouldn't have even opened your car window all the way...just a crack!" Later, in a text message, she reminded me NOT to pick up strangers.
What is that saying? Something about God looking after children and fools.
No regrets. But it's definitely time to start working on my boundaries.
Let me set the scene: It was 8:30 or 9 o'clock at night, so dark. It was snowing big, fluffy snowflakes, and it was cold enough that the snow stayed on the roads and sidewalks making everything deceptively slippery. I was sitting in my car bathed in the vaguely orange glow of a streetlight at the edge of the parking lot. A couple of people were trudging along the sidewalk as I typed.
When I looked up the two walking people were standing by my car, peering in my window.
Let me further set the scene. I was in the city of Lorain, Ohio. Lorain was a hub of the steel industry, and when US Steel collapsed, so did Lorain. The downtown is mostly empty storefronts, bars, and criminal defense attorneys. Lorain is depressed, and not just economically. For being a reasonably small city it has all the urban blight, decay, and crime as it's bigger cousin Cleveland, but with less positive assets. (Apologies if any of you folks are from Lorain, but, really, am I wrong?)
I felt a certain sinking feeling as I saw those people standing by my car. It was with something of a sense of misgiving that I rolled down my window.
It was a young couple, a woman and man. As soon as I opened my window the woman started talking. Please, she said. I'm 5 months pregnant and I'm having really bad pain. When I get home I think I'll need to call an ambulance. Please. Could you give us a ride home?
Another thing I need to point out. I was not in a particularly good neighborhood, but instead a rather sad area with abandoned houses and houses you just wished no one had to live in. Across the street from our building is a junkyard and a few vacant lots. It's on a corner. There's a self-serve car wash about a block away. In other words, pretty isolated.
I had two simultaneous thoughts: 1) This could be the beginning of a really horrible crime, and 2) I really just want to go home.
I gestured with my phone. Is there someone I could call for you? Would you like to use my phone to call somebody? ("And just keep it if you want," I thought.)
The woman looked down at me. "Can't we just get a ride? Please?"
She didn't look particularly pregnant from my vantage point, but she was wearing a winter coat. It occurred to me that this would be the perfect cover story to lure a kind-hearted soul into trouble. Despite my general peace-loving nature, I'm a huge fan of Criminal Minds. I know how this works.
I looked into the pleading brown eyes. I pictured myself saying "Sorry," rolling up my window, and driving away.
"Alright," I said.
I was chuckling to myself as they climbed into the back seat of my car, gushing thank-yous. As I said before, I was delivering stuff to my aftercare clients so my front seat was stuffed with toilet paper, paper towels, laundry detergent, and dish soap. In the back seat I had a bag of donated shoes. They were destined for Goodwill, but I hadn't dropped them off yet and the bag had somehow upended. There was a big sheet of black plastic leftover from a mattress I had hauled a few days before.
They said it was only about 5 blocks away. Now, about where we were headed...I was driving down a somewhat well-used thoroughfare that is crossed by little residential streets. A railroad track cuts through the area so most of these little streets dead-end into the railroad right-of-way, a no-mans-land of scrub and trees. Again, the perfect place for a crime.
As we were driving the woman kept up her nervous chatter. She had suffered a terrible kidney infection prior to getting pregnant, so now she was always worried about her health. She was having these really bad cramps and she didn't know why. She and the young man (baby daddy?) sat in the back, holding hands. I came to their street and he told me to turn left. As soon as I did, he said "Sorry, I was wrong. I meant right." There were a few houses with lights on, and at the end was a church. I pulled into the empty parking lot to turn around. "Please don't have a gun," I thought. I'm really scared of guns. I wondered if they tried to rob me if I could buy them off with toilet paper. It's a precious commodity. You can't buy it with food stamps.
Once we were headed in the right direction, the woman said to me "You're really nice. You're family is really lucky. Do you have kids of your own?" I glanced back at her in the rearview and told her I was probably old enough to be her mother. "I'm 22!" she chirped. Yes, I was definitely old enough. "You don't look it, ma'am!" the young man added. I smiled and thanked him.
He indicated that they were going to the house at the end of the street, again right where the road met the woods. Sure, I was kinda nervous, but mostly tired, and kinda resigned. Again I found myself hoping that they didn't have a gun. I would be happy giving them anything I had.
At last I reached a house with lights on and a row of cars parked in front. The young man directed me to the end of the row to park, right by the woods. They thanked me, slipped out of the car and stumbled up to one of the lit-up doorways. Before they got out I wished them good luck with everything.
And that was that.
I didn't want to tell my family what I had done that night. I thought they might be upset about my recklessness. When I told a co-worker a few days later she confirmed it. "What?!? That was crazy! You were lucky! You shouldn't have even opened your car window all the way...just a crack!" Later, in a text message, she reminded me NOT to pick up strangers.
What is that saying? Something about God looking after children and fools.
No regrets. But it's definitely time to start working on my boundaries.
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