I have met a lot of people over the years on the street corner, while walking, in places patronized, in the work place, and in a religious atmosphere. Many are friendly. Many are caring. Many you soon learn are total jerks. Have socialized with several of these people both men and women alike (the jerks too). Some have become friends and hold a special place in my heart even though we don’t spend a lot of time together. One such individual stands out for me, but first…
Over 30 years ago, as a young adult, one of Dad’s nieces developed an autoimmune disorder that rendered her disabled. For years I struggled with the fear of contracting this disease because of the hereditary factor. However, Beth has been in remission for over 15 years, entered the seminary, and is an active pastor in the Methodist church.
Now to this special lady and she is a lady in every sense of the word. Recently, she was diagnosed with the same autoimmune disorder as my cousin. At least knowing the medical term and what is ahead somewhat lessens the anxiety but a devastating blow nonetheless. A strong family that will rally around her is vital and fortunately she has that and then some. I get caught off guard and choke up upon catching momentary glimpses of their mist-filled eyes, because I understand what they are experiencing. It’s rough. Life is changed and challenges are presented. Carl had a chronic illness so I know how the spouse feels. For 16 years I observed Jonathan coping with his diabetic father. Watching a parent struggle with any illness is hard at any age, but possibly more difficult to comprehend when the child is younger. But she has a supportive husband and children; another reason I wish Jonathan had been brought up at Long Beach--to be under this family’s influence.
Have been fortunate to have never had any major health problems, so I can’t relate to what she is feeling, but she is strong and she will persevere and thoughts and prayers are constant. She is a wonderful woman (and her hubby ain’t half bad either). A lady who shows compassion to others and one whom I’ve been privileged to be on the other side of one-on-one conversations. The only person, besides Mom, who called on my birthday and expressed disappointment in having to leave a voice message. (My son doesn’t even do that; doubt he even knows the date.) A lady while in the middle of a new-found medical crisis took the time to respond to e-mails concerning my dad. A lady who shared the name with my childhood friend. She has a great name. One of my favorite names. A name that means crowned with laurel, symbolic of honor and victory.
Her name is Laura.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
MEN DON'T CRY
(I promise, really I do, to finish that final chapter soon. It’s there but not quite. Need to post this blog and write a second before too much time goes by.)
How many times have you heard that saying? Carl always apologized when he cried. Jonathan felt embarrassed whenever caught with a tear falling down his cheek. Dad rarely displayed any emotion, and probably in my teens when I saw him cry for the first time. Remember it well. In Albuquerque at night time. In the living room standing in the dark by the stereo, purchased with books of S & H green stamps, looking out the pane glass window. Upon entering the room I was taken aback to hear the sounds of sobbing coming from Dad’s direction. Dad had been watching the movie, “Spencer’s Mountain,” and a song during the funeral scene was the same song performed at his mother’s funeral. The next time he showed a similar display was when Jonathan was three and Dad was going to be separated from his one and only grandson when we decided to move to California. The breakdown occurred while Dad was saying the prayer before our last family meal together.
Never noticed any more visible evidence of salt-laden cheeks or tear-stained eyes until April of this year. Dad had been experiencing health problems over the last couple of years. Lately he was having trouble walking just short distances, experiencing shortness of breath, and was completing the preparation stages to receive a bypass. While at church he was dizzy and the paramedics were called out. Dad became very emotional, looked scared and had trouble catching his breath; somewhat resembling a panic attack. Thought Dad might get that bypass, but after several hours in the ER, Dad went home. It wasn’t the heart.
Dad was scheduled to have an angiogram but it was postponed because he was anemic. The next question--Why was Dad bleeding? Thus began the game called anticipation. Dad’s problem was twofold: heart and colon. In between the numerous tests and lab work Dad suffered a heart attack and was admitted into the hospital in June. Another waiting game ensued. More tests were run and several doctors who were considered the “A Team” consulted on what Dr. C called a “difficult case.” Dad received a pacemaker, had triple-bypass surgery, and entered rehab. On Saturday after a 10-week stay, Dad was released and obviously filled with a smorgasbord of sensations. When faced with one’s own mortality, it’s a wake up call and a time of reflection.
Dad stepped out of the car somewhat shaky and apprehensive but maneuvered his way into the building with the aid of a walker. It was lunchtime so he actually passed by a welcome home line. Everyone was thrilled to see my father. A man who was truly missed. Dad broke down but quickly composed himself. Knew he was grateful to finally be home.
It’s been a few days and Dad has been somewhat disheartened. He had forgotten about the colon surgery; however, as always, he is taking everything in stride and is now mobile without the walker. Doctor appointments have been scheduled and he’ll see the colon surgeon in two weeks.
Although it breaks my heart to see my father so upset, please don’t tell me that men should not cry. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It doesn’t diminish their masculinity. And on some it can be down right sexy. So change those sayings. Men can cry. There is crying in baseball. And lest we forget, Jesus wept.
How many times have you heard that saying? Carl always apologized when he cried. Jonathan felt embarrassed whenever caught with a tear falling down his cheek. Dad rarely displayed any emotion, and probably in my teens when I saw him cry for the first time. Remember it well. In Albuquerque at night time. In the living room standing in the dark by the stereo, purchased with books of S & H green stamps, looking out the pane glass window. Upon entering the room I was taken aback to hear the sounds of sobbing coming from Dad’s direction. Dad had been watching the movie, “Spencer’s Mountain,” and a song during the funeral scene was the same song performed at his mother’s funeral. The next time he showed a similar display was when Jonathan was three and Dad was going to be separated from his one and only grandson when we decided to move to California. The breakdown occurred while Dad was saying the prayer before our last family meal together.
Never noticed any more visible evidence of salt-laden cheeks or tear-stained eyes until April of this year. Dad had been experiencing health problems over the last couple of years. Lately he was having trouble walking just short distances, experiencing shortness of breath, and was completing the preparation stages to receive a bypass. While at church he was dizzy and the paramedics were called out. Dad became very emotional, looked scared and had trouble catching his breath; somewhat resembling a panic attack. Thought Dad might get that bypass, but after several hours in the ER, Dad went home. It wasn’t the heart.
Dad was scheduled to have an angiogram but it was postponed because he was anemic. The next question--Why was Dad bleeding? Thus began the game called anticipation. Dad’s problem was twofold: heart and colon. In between the numerous tests and lab work Dad suffered a heart attack and was admitted into the hospital in June. Another waiting game ensued. More tests were run and several doctors who were considered the “A Team” consulted on what Dr. C called a “difficult case.” Dad received a pacemaker, had triple-bypass surgery, and entered rehab. On Saturday after a 10-week stay, Dad was released and obviously filled with a smorgasbord of sensations. When faced with one’s own mortality, it’s a wake up call and a time of reflection.
Dad stepped out of the car somewhat shaky and apprehensive but maneuvered his way into the building with the aid of a walker. It was lunchtime so he actually passed by a welcome home line. Everyone was thrilled to see my father. A man who was truly missed. Dad broke down but quickly composed himself. Knew he was grateful to finally be home.
It’s been a few days and Dad has been somewhat disheartened. He had forgotten about the colon surgery; however, as always, he is taking everything in stride and is now mobile without the walker. Doctor appointments have been scheduled and he’ll see the colon surgeon in two weeks.
Although it breaks my heart to see my father so upset, please don’t tell me that men should not cry. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It doesn’t diminish their masculinity. And on some it can be down right sexy. So change those sayings. Men can cry. There is crying in baseball. And lest we forget, Jesus wept.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
No, I Haven't Quit
Sorry about the sporadic writing and still plan on continuing. It's been pretty hectic with Dad, Jonathan, working, applying for jobs, studying, taking tests, interviewing, keeping up with my favorite blogger, and practicing keyboard for Sunday night's performance. Something had to be put on the back burner and it does take a lot of time and effort to write this blog, especially this latest series. Guess I could have cut out some of my daily workout routine but as you already know, that ain't gonna happen.
For those of you who don't know, my dad is doing well--pacemaker and triple bypass surgery within 10 days apart and now in the hospital rehab program with the possibility of going home at the end of this week. (It will only have been 10 weeks.) Colon surgery will be the next battle to conquer, and we have appreciated so much the thoughts, prayers, cards, and visits during this time.
My goal at the end of next week is to finish that piece of work that some (well at least one) consider "raw" and "riveting." Of course, that was the plan several weeks ago, and we all know how that turned out. Believe it or not, there is only one part left and doubt it will be quite as long as the last two chapters. Anyway, thanks for not deserting me; can't really afford to lose you.
For those of you who don't know, my dad is doing well--pacemaker and triple bypass surgery within 10 days apart and now in the hospital rehab program with the possibility of going home at the end of this week. (It will only have been 10 weeks.) Colon surgery will be the next battle to conquer, and we have appreciated so much the thoughts, prayers, cards, and visits during this time.
My goal at the end of next week is to finish that piece of work that some (well at least one) consider "raw" and "riveting." Of course, that was the plan several weeks ago, and we all know how that turned out. Believe it or not, there is only one part left and doubt it will be quite as long as the last two chapters. Anyway, thanks for not deserting me; can't really afford to lose you.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
HIDDEN TRUTHS REVEALED - PART 16
Still no closer to finding the answers to life. Total confusion as to what career path to follow. Again, Mom and Dad were nice enough to let me stay with them in their downtown Long Beach apartment. What a view from their sliding glass door--the Queen Mary. Watching cruise ships roll in to dock. Wow! Great, new walking routes along Shoreline Village and passing Catalina Express with full view of the ocean. These were peaceful times in the beginning. Although Carl’s ashes were scattered off the coast of Newport Beach, I felt closer to him somehow.
An intensive job search ensued. Decided to return to the legal field and got a clerical position with a law firm across the street. Failed to follow through on a great opportunity with the school district where Don and Natalie worked because had decided to become a paralegal and this was the best opportunity to do so, and would also be able to transition into the office manager position once Sheryl returned to her paralegal standing. Within two months realized this was not the place for me and didn’t want a career as a paralegal. One of the office managers in another law firm on the same floor told me that she had stopped introducing herself to any of my boss’s new employees because it was like a revolving door. That told you something. Wanted to leave and return to New Mexico to see whether or not to move back, but was asked to stay until the conclusion of a big trial. Two months later the trial was still going strong but it was determined I was no longer needed. Gee, thanks! I was nice to put my plans on hold only to be booted out at their convenience. Don lectures me often about looking out for myself.
Mom and Dad tried to find a church of Christ close by. Weren’t impressed with the choices but had attended one congregation on a previous visit to Long Beach. Not your typical C of C variety and it meant having to take the bus but it would have to do.
On Sunday you could find me on the internet or watching the Food Network channel. At the time church didn’t seem to be high on my priority list. Life was confusing and discombobulated enough without worrying about church. Either was still reeling in anger or having a pity party about my plight and had no desire to put on a mask as if everything was fine (had done that enough in my life).
I offered to drive my parents and come back to pick them up. They turned me down. Offered to just drive them or just pick them up. They still refused my generosity. (Now, if I had been willing to stay, that would have been a different story.) Mom and Dad never wanted to inconvenience anybody and even refused rides home from some of the members. This continued for several months up until Easter Sunday--sunrise service. Just one problem--no early morning bus routes. Finally, Mom and Dad had no choice but to accept my chauffeur service and even talked me into staying. What the heck. Will be like all those other individuals I saw over the years at church doing their once-a-year obligation to the Lord.
The service was different and it actually didn’t kill me. Over the next several weeks my parents still continued with the bus and my guilt started getting the best of me. Church wasn’t so bad the one time I came and they only met on Sunday morning (odd in itself for a C of C). Offered to take Mom and Dad and decided to stay. Know they were pleased. The preacher was pretty cool--great sense of humor, very innovative sermons and remember the phrase (or the gist of it anyway) that had me hooked--“everybody is weird.” I left that day feeling great! The more I went, the more my heart tugged but still only planned to be a pew warmer--had no intentions of placing membership, getting to know anybody, and it was only a temporary place until I decided what I was going to do in life. Really was only a means to appease my guilty conscious for letting my parents take a bus to church (couldn’t be a way to appease my guilty conscious for not attending). There always was something applicable and was amazed at some of the things individuals actually admitted to in public such as past drug and alcohol addictions, even at the communion table. Many were friendly but had been down that road before--they fall all over you and once you place membership, they drop you like a hot potato. The one Sunday I came in August, Greg was not there because his Mom had passed away. Although sad for his loss, was very disappointed because the main reason for my coming was Greg’s thought-provoking sermons and great delivery. A bearded gentleman spoke that day, a head doctor no less, with a quirky sense of humor. Interesting and quite different, but a fascinating character nevertheless.
The year lease on my parent’s apartment was ending and Mom determined a retirement facility environment would be the ideal place to live and it was right next door to church. I decided to seize the opportunity to become a nomad and travel around and would stay and work awhile to supplement expenses and return to Albuquerque or Austin to decide whether or not to move back. Except for family, there was nothing keeping me in Long Beach, let alone California, and all the people closest to me were elsewhere.
Went to New Mexico first. Paid for a weekly room with kitchenette and got a job as a caregiver for a sweet, Italian lady whose husband had owned one of the more popular shoe stores in its heyday. Two of his brothers were attorneys whom I had come into contact with while working for Judge Sanchez after graduating from high school. Found a studio apartment, furnished, free utilities/cable and month-to-month lease. Had to get phone service (one of the few who still didn’t have a cell phone). Quiet, clean, the perfect location (is there such a place?) all for $500 per month and much nicer than the one I live in now.
Ida had been quite ill before I started working, had gone through cancer treatment a year earlier, and was on oxygen. She had gone through a lot in life but her outlook was remarkable with a great sense of humor. Yes, Ida was a pretty tough cuss. Was disappointed I didn’t get to plan or fix her meals, but Ida was a very light and finicky eater and knew what she wanted--a Blake’s Lotaburger and fries for lunch (considered the red meat her daily iron intake), Haagen Daas ice cream, and wild cherry Pepsi; but at 87, guess she deserved to eat anything.
Visited several friends, many by way of attending several congregations, sometimes two different ones on the same Sunday morning. Although it was good to visit again with old friends and acquaintances, just wasn’t the same, missed my family and was reminded how much I hate the cold. For an early morning walker, below freezing doesn’t work even while wearing double gloves. The sides of my fingertips on both hands literally split open from overexposure to the cold.
So before the end of 2005, called Mom to find me an apartment--around the corner from their retirement facility and just across the street from church. Returned to lay stakes down in Long Beach. I did like the city and actually missed the church (so much different from those elsewhere) with those friendly people and that talented preacher, who hopefully realizes it by now after all the bragging I’ve done, and there’s not much time left to do so. :)
The hunt for that perfect job was on once again. But there is no such thing and maybe some day I’ll finally accept that fact. Searched and searched and searched. Again, Don and Natalie talked about getting me into the school district in LA County. Didn’t want to move or commute which left little other choice. Also was taking a chance on something that I hoped would transpire. It’s a good thing I don’t gamble much. Nothing happened and lost out on what could have been a great job. Not only learned a very important lesson in life, but learned a little something about my stupidity and am determined not to make that same mistake again.
Although never considered myself even close to being a virtuoso on any keyboard, missed having a musical instrument around after Mom and Dad sold the organ I sporadically played over the past 40 years. Purchased a keyboard from where else--Guitar Center. A Yamaha brand similar to Greg’s (how else do you suppose I found Guitar Center?) which had an adequate number of bells and whistles to do the job. A single keyboard was such a change from that two-keyboard organ but was determined to do it right so took a trip to the neighborhood public library to check out books covering the basics of music, playing keyboard for dummies and collections of pop songs. Many things started to make sense, from sharps to flats, and was amazed how much I learned or maybe how much had been forgotten after those first few lessons 40 years earlier. Just like anything else--all a matter of practice and needed to devote a significant amount of time to it if I wanted to exceed my limited talent with a musical instrument.
Had the hardest time finding a job and knew my age was a determining factor. Of course, the sporadic employment history over the past several years didn’t help matters any. I had shot myself in the foot and was now paying the price. To supplement expenses worked temporarily in a chiropractic office for a couple of months. In the summertime delivered flyers door to door--actually got paid to walk. Not a bad gig. Did it early mornings for a few hours and with Mom’s help, could get double the work done. For a 77-year-old, Mom could keep up with the best of them. Then Mom took a tumble which pretty much ended my desire to continue--much easier with two; however, it was just as well because the overexertion was making me lose weight and doubt the hours in the sun were doing my skin and the aging process any favors, although liked a tan. But it’s nice to know there’s some place to fall back on if I ever need some extra money. For a few weeks cleaned medical offices with Sharon until the owner decided my services were no longer needed. Can’t say I was disappointed. It’s a thankless job and cringed every time I thought about my college degree while cleaning a toilet seat. It’s amazing how many filthy pigs there are out in the world, and surprisingly not just men. Makes you wonder if they do the same at home.
I applied to anything and everything and still had aspirations to do something besides administrative/clerical work. The ideal scenario would be to own my own business--a bakery filled with cakes like carrot; pies like chocolate mousse with Oreo cookie crust; doughnuts like cream-filled, chocolate-covered long johns; cookies like macadamia chocolate chip, candy like walnut fudge all for the health conscious with the same great taste but without the saturated fats, sugar, and calories. Or even a bed and breakfast. Or maybe just about anything in order to avoid the annoyances of butting heads with employers who have different philosophies on how to operate a successful company.
While in New Mexico I had gained some insight about several things and was determined to make many changes. It’s not easy to start over and make changes. The saying, “Can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” is not true if you stay focused, don’t give up and keep persevering. Already felt I knew several people at church but still, anything new was a major hurdle for me. Becoming involved, attending after church functions especially with food included was going out of my comfort zone but had made a commitment to make those modifications. Was determined to go to the functions and stay when the eating began whether I ate or not. Will admit that in the beginning didn’t eat anything or ate very little (might as well have been nothing) so I could eat what I had planned at home; however, at the end of each of these activities the disappointment in myself remained for still being in the same sewer of misery after all of these years. It chipped away another piece of self-esteem thereby leading to another bout of depression. After some prodding started acting “normal” and ate; however, still was self-conscious and knew I would have eaten more at home. Did feel better about myself somewhat, but there was still a long way to go to claim victory. Will admit that the more I did it, the easier it became and truly believed I was doing better than ever before.
It was a huge accomplishment for me just to go to anything whether or not food was involved, but why does every function have to be centered around the consumption phase? Some would say it makes it easier to talk--not if you’re my dad--he’s more interested in eating than talking. That’s when he’s the quietest. Some would say that’s how you fellowship, socialize and it’s biblical--Acts 2:42-46 regarding the fellowship, the breaking of bread, and eating together with glad and sincere hearts. Personally I’d rather do without it thank you very much. It’s easier not having to struggle with the aftermath. Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy my food and have been known to put it away at all-you-can-eat buffets.
After months of rejection, disappointment, frustration, and my fill of odd ball jobs, finally landed a decent job with a well-known company although not the ideal scenario I had hoped. A mail order pharmacy. A call center environment, but could put to use the medical terminology and reading doctor prescriptions I had learned in class from three years earlier. Taking a couple of walking breaks during the day didn’t seem to erase the fact that I was sitting on my butt for at least eight hours. Missed having a physically active job but kept plodding along with the help of Cheryl’s encouragement.
One thing about this place, they sure loved to eat! It was like potluck alley. One group celebrating one day, another group celebrating the next, and at times several groups celebrating on the same day. Food on every corner regularly. When there was reason to celebrate in our group, had every intention of participating. Didn’t make excuses as in years’ past or suddenly taken ill and not showing up to work. Brought something nutritionally appropriate (or in another words, something I knew I would eat), but when it was time, just couldn’t eat any of the other food, so suffice it to say I didn’t participate in any more food-related activities. Yes, Debbie was delusional to ever think she was actually winning this seemingly life-long battle. A lot was weighing on my mind during this time--Dad’s health, my aunt’s imminent death, death of a childhood friend, job frustration even though now employed full time, rejection, and ongoing issues with Jonathan. It should come as no surprise that I had donned that same old armor (my MO) that always contributed to my defeat.
Although not thrilled with the job, liked the stability of a regular paycheck and knowing there was medical coverage if ever needed, but at the time it wasn’t a major concern. Unfortunately made another mistake and left to take another position with a fire retardant company that seemingly was the be all and end all but with no benefits. The hours were cut before even starting and didn’t realize that her business had been pretty dead most of the year. (Guess who would be the overhead?) Again learned another one of life’s lessons--contentment. And, of course, it’s biblical--Philippians 4:11-12, learning to be content no matter what the situation. However, it bugged the h-e-double hockey sticks out of me how content Dad always was but in this moment had to admit I needed to be more like my father.
Became a contract typist for the LA Times, a part-time job working nights from 8-1 and overtime was required if needed. For an early morning riser, thought this still would be doable. However, the overtime was regular and the first part of the week didn’t get home until 5 a.m. Only got 1-½ to 2 hours of sleep. The second half of the week, worked only about 3 hours. Don’t care what people say about working graveyards--you get used to it. My body was never going to function well with this schedule so after a week, called it quits. It was my shortest employment tenure to date but was able to return to the fire retardant company working the measly 15 hours per week. At least it’s better than nothing.
Kept practicing the keyboard and felt honored to be asked to play in the church Praise Band. Have only participated in two performances but being a part of this group has been one of my proudest times. With the possible exception of tennis, it has been a joy of a lifetime (and I don’t bat around that word often). As you may recall, I really don’t know how to enjoy much of anything.
(to be continued)
An intensive job search ensued. Decided to return to the legal field and got a clerical position with a law firm across the street. Failed to follow through on a great opportunity with the school district where Don and Natalie worked because had decided to become a paralegal and this was the best opportunity to do so, and would also be able to transition into the office manager position once Sheryl returned to her paralegal standing. Within two months realized this was not the place for me and didn’t want a career as a paralegal. One of the office managers in another law firm on the same floor told me that she had stopped introducing herself to any of my boss’s new employees because it was like a revolving door. That told you something. Wanted to leave and return to New Mexico to see whether or not to move back, but was asked to stay until the conclusion of a big trial. Two months later the trial was still going strong but it was determined I was no longer needed. Gee, thanks! I was nice to put my plans on hold only to be booted out at their convenience. Don lectures me often about looking out for myself.
Mom and Dad tried to find a church of Christ close by. Weren’t impressed with the choices but had attended one congregation on a previous visit to Long Beach. Not your typical C of C variety and it meant having to take the bus but it would have to do.
On Sunday you could find me on the internet or watching the Food Network channel. At the time church didn’t seem to be high on my priority list. Life was confusing and discombobulated enough without worrying about church. Either was still reeling in anger or having a pity party about my plight and had no desire to put on a mask as if everything was fine (had done that enough in my life).
I offered to drive my parents and come back to pick them up. They turned me down. Offered to just drive them or just pick them up. They still refused my generosity. (Now, if I had been willing to stay, that would have been a different story.) Mom and Dad never wanted to inconvenience anybody and even refused rides home from some of the members. This continued for several months up until Easter Sunday--sunrise service. Just one problem--no early morning bus routes. Finally, Mom and Dad had no choice but to accept my chauffeur service and even talked me into staying. What the heck. Will be like all those other individuals I saw over the years at church doing their once-a-year obligation to the Lord.
The service was different and it actually didn’t kill me. Over the next several weeks my parents still continued with the bus and my guilt started getting the best of me. Church wasn’t so bad the one time I came and they only met on Sunday morning (odd in itself for a C of C). Offered to take Mom and Dad and decided to stay. Know they were pleased. The preacher was pretty cool--great sense of humor, very innovative sermons and remember the phrase (or the gist of it anyway) that had me hooked--“everybody is weird.” I left that day feeling great! The more I went, the more my heart tugged but still only planned to be a pew warmer--had no intentions of placing membership, getting to know anybody, and it was only a temporary place until I decided what I was going to do in life. Really was only a means to appease my guilty conscious for letting my parents take a bus to church (couldn’t be a way to appease my guilty conscious for not attending). There always was something applicable and was amazed at some of the things individuals actually admitted to in public such as past drug and alcohol addictions, even at the communion table. Many were friendly but had been down that road before--they fall all over you and once you place membership, they drop you like a hot potato. The one Sunday I came in August, Greg was not there because his Mom had passed away. Although sad for his loss, was very disappointed because the main reason for my coming was Greg’s thought-provoking sermons and great delivery. A bearded gentleman spoke that day, a head doctor no less, with a quirky sense of humor. Interesting and quite different, but a fascinating character nevertheless.
The year lease on my parent’s apartment was ending and Mom determined a retirement facility environment would be the ideal place to live and it was right next door to church. I decided to seize the opportunity to become a nomad and travel around and would stay and work awhile to supplement expenses and return to Albuquerque or Austin to decide whether or not to move back. Except for family, there was nothing keeping me in Long Beach, let alone California, and all the people closest to me were elsewhere.
Went to New Mexico first. Paid for a weekly room with kitchenette and got a job as a caregiver for a sweet, Italian lady whose husband had owned one of the more popular shoe stores in its heyday. Two of his brothers were attorneys whom I had come into contact with while working for Judge Sanchez after graduating from high school. Found a studio apartment, furnished, free utilities/cable and month-to-month lease. Had to get phone service (one of the few who still didn’t have a cell phone). Quiet, clean, the perfect location (is there such a place?) all for $500 per month and much nicer than the one I live in now.
Ida had been quite ill before I started working, had gone through cancer treatment a year earlier, and was on oxygen. She had gone through a lot in life but her outlook was remarkable with a great sense of humor. Yes, Ida was a pretty tough cuss. Was disappointed I didn’t get to plan or fix her meals, but Ida was a very light and finicky eater and knew what she wanted--a Blake’s Lotaburger and fries for lunch (considered the red meat her daily iron intake), Haagen Daas ice cream, and wild cherry Pepsi; but at 87, guess she deserved to eat anything.
Visited several friends, many by way of attending several congregations, sometimes two different ones on the same Sunday morning. Although it was good to visit again with old friends and acquaintances, just wasn’t the same, missed my family and was reminded how much I hate the cold. For an early morning walker, below freezing doesn’t work even while wearing double gloves. The sides of my fingertips on both hands literally split open from overexposure to the cold.
So before the end of 2005, called Mom to find me an apartment--around the corner from their retirement facility and just across the street from church. Returned to lay stakes down in Long Beach. I did like the city and actually missed the church (so much different from those elsewhere) with those friendly people and that talented preacher, who hopefully realizes it by now after all the bragging I’ve done, and there’s not much time left to do so. :)
The hunt for that perfect job was on once again. But there is no such thing and maybe some day I’ll finally accept that fact. Searched and searched and searched. Again, Don and Natalie talked about getting me into the school district in LA County. Didn’t want to move or commute which left little other choice. Also was taking a chance on something that I hoped would transpire. It’s a good thing I don’t gamble much. Nothing happened and lost out on what could have been a great job. Not only learned a very important lesson in life, but learned a little something about my stupidity and am determined not to make that same mistake again.
Although never considered myself even close to being a virtuoso on any keyboard, missed having a musical instrument around after Mom and Dad sold the organ I sporadically played over the past 40 years. Purchased a keyboard from where else--Guitar Center. A Yamaha brand similar to Greg’s (how else do you suppose I found Guitar Center?) which had an adequate number of bells and whistles to do the job. A single keyboard was such a change from that two-keyboard organ but was determined to do it right so took a trip to the neighborhood public library to check out books covering the basics of music, playing keyboard for dummies and collections of pop songs. Many things started to make sense, from sharps to flats, and was amazed how much I learned or maybe how much had been forgotten after those first few lessons 40 years earlier. Just like anything else--all a matter of practice and needed to devote a significant amount of time to it if I wanted to exceed my limited talent with a musical instrument.
Had the hardest time finding a job and knew my age was a determining factor. Of course, the sporadic employment history over the past several years didn’t help matters any. I had shot myself in the foot and was now paying the price. To supplement expenses worked temporarily in a chiropractic office for a couple of months. In the summertime delivered flyers door to door--actually got paid to walk. Not a bad gig. Did it early mornings for a few hours and with Mom’s help, could get double the work done. For a 77-year-old, Mom could keep up with the best of them. Then Mom took a tumble which pretty much ended my desire to continue--much easier with two; however, it was just as well because the overexertion was making me lose weight and doubt the hours in the sun were doing my skin and the aging process any favors, although liked a tan. But it’s nice to know there’s some place to fall back on if I ever need some extra money. For a few weeks cleaned medical offices with Sharon until the owner decided my services were no longer needed. Can’t say I was disappointed. It’s a thankless job and cringed every time I thought about my college degree while cleaning a toilet seat. It’s amazing how many filthy pigs there are out in the world, and surprisingly not just men. Makes you wonder if they do the same at home.
I applied to anything and everything and still had aspirations to do something besides administrative/clerical work. The ideal scenario would be to own my own business--a bakery filled with cakes like carrot; pies like chocolate mousse with Oreo cookie crust; doughnuts like cream-filled, chocolate-covered long johns; cookies like macadamia chocolate chip, candy like walnut fudge all for the health conscious with the same great taste but without the saturated fats, sugar, and calories. Or even a bed and breakfast. Or maybe just about anything in order to avoid the annoyances of butting heads with employers who have different philosophies on how to operate a successful company.
While in New Mexico I had gained some insight about several things and was determined to make many changes. It’s not easy to start over and make changes. The saying, “Can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” is not true if you stay focused, don’t give up and keep persevering. Already felt I knew several people at church but still, anything new was a major hurdle for me. Becoming involved, attending after church functions especially with food included was going out of my comfort zone but had made a commitment to make those modifications. Was determined to go to the functions and stay when the eating began whether I ate or not. Will admit that in the beginning didn’t eat anything or ate very little (might as well have been nothing) so I could eat what I had planned at home; however, at the end of each of these activities the disappointment in myself remained for still being in the same sewer of misery after all of these years. It chipped away another piece of self-esteem thereby leading to another bout of depression. After some prodding started acting “normal” and ate; however, still was self-conscious and knew I would have eaten more at home. Did feel better about myself somewhat, but there was still a long way to go to claim victory. Will admit that the more I did it, the easier it became and truly believed I was doing better than ever before.
It was a huge accomplishment for me just to go to anything whether or not food was involved, but why does every function have to be centered around the consumption phase? Some would say it makes it easier to talk--not if you’re my dad--he’s more interested in eating than talking. That’s when he’s the quietest. Some would say that’s how you fellowship, socialize and it’s biblical--Acts 2:42-46 regarding the fellowship, the breaking of bread, and eating together with glad and sincere hearts. Personally I’d rather do without it thank you very much. It’s easier not having to struggle with the aftermath. Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy my food and have been known to put it away at all-you-can-eat buffets.
After months of rejection, disappointment, frustration, and my fill of odd ball jobs, finally landed a decent job with a well-known company although not the ideal scenario I had hoped. A mail order pharmacy. A call center environment, but could put to use the medical terminology and reading doctor prescriptions I had learned in class from three years earlier. Taking a couple of walking breaks during the day didn’t seem to erase the fact that I was sitting on my butt for at least eight hours. Missed having a physically active job but kept plodding along with the help of Cheryl’s encouragement.
One thing about this place, they sure loved to eat! It was like potluck alley. One group celebrating one day, another group celebrating the next, and at times several groups celebrating on the same day. Food on every corner regularly. When there was reason to celebrate in our group, had every intention of participating. Didn’t make excuses as in years’ past or suddenly taken ill and not showing up to work. Brought something nutritionally appropriate (or in another words, something I knew I would eat), but when it was time, just couldn’t eat any of the other food, so suffice it to say I didn’t participate in any more food-related activities. Yes, Debbie was delusional to ever think she was actually winning this seemingly life-long battle. A lot was weighing on my mind during this time--Dad’s health, my aunt’s imminent death, death of a childhood friend, job frustration even though now employed full time, rejection, and ongoing issues with Jonathan. It should come as no surprise that I had donned that same old armor (my MO) that always contributed to my defeat.
Although not thrilled with the job, liked the stability of a regular paycheck and knowing there was medical coverage if ever needed, but at the time it wasn’t a major concern. Unfortunately made another mistake and left to take another position with a fire retardant company that seemingly was the be all and end all but with no benefits. The hours were cut before even starting and didn’t realize that her business had been pretty dead most of the year. (Guess who would be the overhead?) Again learned another one of life’s lessons--contentment. And, of course, it’s biblical--Philippians 4:11-12, learning to be content no matter what the situation. However, it bugged the h-e-double hockey sticks out of me how content Dad always was but in this moment had to admit I needed to be more like my father.
Became a contract typist for the LA Times, a part-time job working nights from 8-1 and overtime was required if needed. For an early morning riser, thought this still would be doable. However, the overtime was regular and the first part of the week didn’t get home until 5 a.m. Only got 1-½ to 2 hours of sleep. The second half of the week, worked only about 3 hours. Don’t care what people say about working graveyards--you get used to it. My body was never going to function well with this schedule so after a week, called it quits. It was my shortest employment tenure to date but was able to return to the fire retardant company working the measly 15 hours per week. At least it’s better than nothing.
Kept practicing the keyboard and felt honored to be asked to play in the church Praise Band. Have only participated in two performances but being a part of this group has been one of my proudest times. With the possible exception of tennis, it has been a joy of a lifetime (and I don’t bat around that word often). As you may recall, I really don’t know how to enjoy much of anything.
(to be continued)
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