Don't recall having many jobs where I didn't look forward to some time off or unhappy that the work day had ended; however, since landing that great job of mine, I can honestly say I do not want time off and do not want to leave when it's time to go home. You won't find an imitation of Fred Flintstone when the whistle blew at the quarry. No "yabba dabba doos" here.
As I've said in previous writings, when school is on a break, the health center is closed and the staff stays home. Until my position becomes full time, these breaks aren't especially grand for me since salary is mostly null and void.
Never considered vacations, weekends, or holidays special basically because I never really did anything since 1) I have trouble doing anything for or spending anything on myself; and 2) if I were to do anything, didn't relish the fact that it probably would have to be done alone.
At school there was a break between summer and fall semesters so this past week I was unable to go to work (yeah, I know, poor me). At work, Pat always told me to do something fun and go exploring either on weekends or during our breaks. A male friend asked if I had difficulty venturing out alone. "No," I replied. So I heeded the advice and kept relatively busy most of the week.
On Monday I walked across the street and went browsing at the mall. Contemplated future purchases and possible Christmas gifts. I rarely go to a movie. The last movie I saw was The Devil Wears Prada and before that--Star Wars Episode I. Yeah, pretty sad. Usually wait until they are premiered on the boob tube; however, the mall has a discount theater. Movies are $1.75 and Tuesday is dollar day. Of course, the movies were out several months ago but I've never seen them so, hey....Tuesday I saw The Incredible Hulk. Not too bad. Wednesday I saw Ironman. Pretty good. I actually could get used to this but it still would be nice to go with someone, but at least I was doing something every day. On Thursday headed south to see Jonathan and had an expensive but good visit with my son and was able to see my grandson for the first time. The rest of the week was spent reading, writing, helping Mom with some errands, cooking a few meals, and visiting with my brother and sister-in-law on their first visit down to our new digs. Also was a little disappointed that I wasn't going to have a date (same guy) three Saturdays in a row and must wait until this Saturday.
For the most part it was not such a bad week after all.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Saturday, August 23, 2008
EXODUS FROM HADES
It was December 2005. After a two-month stay, I realized moving back to Albuquerque was not in the cards and returned to the "golden state" where parents, brother, and son still lived. Moved into a small apartment complex, in a Jewish community, behind a popular eating establishment, around the corner from a retirement center where my parents resided, and across the street from church. The apartment was a small studio with very few amenities, no air, no heat, but utilities were paid. Rather pricey so I thought after having lived in a furnished studio with air, heat and all utilities paid for approximately $300 less. However, it was only to be a temporary stay. Luckily Long Beach wasn't freezing all winter or sizzling hot all summer but there were some miserable moments.
When it was cold, it was cold and even with a ceramic heater, turning on the oven, and wearing thermals, socks, slippers and heavy robes or jackets still kept the chills inside the body and the nails a purplish blue. Going somewhere even if just standing outside in the sun brought a warmth of relief.
Now when it was hot...I was in the netherworld. That was pure torture. Drinking ice water, wrapping frigid wet cloths around the neck, sitting in front of a full-blown fan, and walking around with minimal attire didn't do much to relieve the constant stickiness and headaches. At times wondered why I took a cold shower--within minutes I was all hot and sticky again. Sometimes there was a comfortable breeze by opening the front door and the bathroom window; however, when the scent of cigarette smoke hit my nostrils, it was a world-record dash to shut the front door. As long as the temperature outside didn't go pass the 80 degree mark, it was tolerable but those weeks the gauge hit the 90 degree mark and higher, comfort had to be found in air-conditioned facilities, which usually meant the corner library, visiting my parents or across the street at church. It was soon learned that chocolate of any kind could not be kept out for very long--it would start melting within a matter of minutes.
My studio had been part of what used to be the third bedroom next door which explained why the corresponding wall was so paper thin, and I could hear everything from loud music, television, and the neighbor making out with his girlfriend. The complex lacked professional management and rules and regulations were not strictly enforced. Children running around and screaming even in front of my door made it feel like I was smack dab in the middle of recess or a day care facility. But all in all, I guess it was better than being homeless.
When I got my great job last December, there would be a 22-mile commute. It wasn't the ideal situation, but I continued the journey for seven months and actually learned how to become more patient along the way. Unfortunately, the gas prices reached the ridiculous stage and thought it wise to consider relocating. Could have done it long ago, but being across the street from church and close to my parents and friends made it a difficult transition to contemplate.
My mom had become disenchanted with living in a retirement facility environment and wanted to get back to the "real world" once again. Think Dad would rather stay, mainly because of the food; however, they both always wanted me to leave that "hell hole" and thought I deserved better. So after some discussion, it seemed logical to just rent something together, at least temporarily, and I would be there to offer some assistance. So, we rented a nice two-bedroom apartment in Orange County just three miles away from work. The apartment complex is in close proximity to the hospital, medical offices, shopping centers, and the all important (at least in Dad's opinion) eating establishments.
At this stage of the game, it's not easy living with your parents again and Mom and Dad could say the same thing about their daughter. Of course, there is an adjustment for each of us but for now, this is life as I know it.
You know, I somewhat understand how the children of Israel must have felt when they left Egypt and reached the promised land. It has air conditioning. It has heat. It is comfortable and relatively quiet. It has a short commute to work. It has numerous places that can be reached by foot. Yes, this is my land flowing with milk and honey.
When it was cold, it was cold and even with a ceramic heater, turning on the oven, and wearing thermals, socks, slippers and heavy robes or jackets still kept the chills inside the body and the nails a purplish blue. Going somewhere even if just standing outside in the sun brought a warmth of relief.
Now when it was hot...I was in the netherworld. That was pure torture. Drinking ice water, wrapping frigid wet cloths around the neck, sitting in front of a full-blown fan, and walking around with minimal attire didn't do much to relieve the constant stickiness and headaches. At times wondered why I took a cold shower--within minutes I was all hot and sticky again. Sometimes there was a comfortable breeze by opening the front door and the bathroom window; however, when the scent of cigarette smoke hit my nostrils, it was a world-record dash to shut the front door. As long as the temperature outside didn't go pass the 80 degree mark, it was tolerable but those weeks the gauge hit the 90 degree mark and higher, comfort had to be found in air-conditioned facilities, which usually meant the corner library, visiting my parents or across the street at church. It was soon learned that chocolate of any kind could not be kept out for very long--it would start melting within a matter of minutes.
My studio had been part of what used to be the third bedroom next door which explained why the corresponding wall was so paper thin, and I could hear everything from loud music, television, and the neighbor making out with his girlfriend. The complex lacked professional management and rules and regulations were not strictly enforced. Children running around and screaming even in front of my door made it feel like I was smack dab in the middle of recess or a day care facility. But all in all, I guess it was better than being homeless.
When I got my great job last December, there would be a 22-mile commute. It wasn't the ideal situation, but I continued the journey for seven months and actually learned how to become more patient along the way. Unfortunately, the gas prices reached the ridiculous stage and thought it wise to consider relocating. Could have done it long ago, but being across the street from church and close to my parents and friends made it a difficult transition to contemplate.
My mom had become disenchanted with living in a retirement facility environment and wanted to get back to the "real world" once again. Think Dad would rather stay, mainly because of the food; however, they both always wanted me to leave that "hell hole" and thought I deserved better. So after some discussion, it seemed logical to just rent something together, at least temporarily, and I would be there to offer some assistance. So, we rented a nice two-bedroom apartment in Orange County just three miles away from work. The apartment complex is in close proximity to the hospital, medical offices, shopping centers, and the all important (at least in Dad's opinion) eating establishments.
At this stage of the game, it's not easy living with your parents again and Mom and Dad could say the same thing about their daughter. Of course, there is an adjustment for each of us but for now, this is life as I know it.
You know, I somewhat understand how the children of Israel must have felt when they left Egypt and reached the promised land. It has air conditioning. It has heat. It is comfortable and relatively quiet. It has a short commute to work. It has numerous places that can be reached by foot. Yes, this is my land flowing with milk and honey.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
GOOD DEEDS
(Side Note: Life has been somewhat helter skelter since I last blogged and contemplated whether or not to write many more; however, there's something deep within that dictates that I must and that I'm better by doing so, even if it can take a significant amount of my time. Writing is not only enjoyable but can be quite therapeutic and if some of your comments have been truthful, you like that I do write, so I'll try to do it on a more regular basis.)
Asking for help does not come easily for me whether trying to find a destination or lifting heavy objects and usually turn down most offers for assistance. Think it's in the genes. No wonder my dad used to call my mother, grandmother, and me "three peas in a pod."
Several times I've taken my keyboard over to the church building for Praise Band practices and Celebration performances. A few have offered their assistance when time to take the equipment back home, which I politely declined. One particular instance comes to mind. Greg was the offerer. I, of course, refused and Steve chimed in that I probably had more strength than the preacher man anyway.
After the band's performance last month, I left my equipment in the church building until after I moved to a new apartment, in another county, and only three miles from work (an upcoming blog). After service this past Sunday, while people were still mingling in the auditorium, I entered the former "Holy Place" and took the keyboard stand out the side door, down the stairs to the car and came back in. Grabbed the keyboard case and lugged it out the door (while others watched and a few stepped aside), down the stairs to the parking lot heading toward the Saturn. A young man in shorts with several tatoos holding hands with his female companion was cutting across the parking lot and asked if I needed any help. I smiled and said "No, thanks" and kept on walking. He stopped and said, "Where are you going?" I pointed to the car and he walked up to me, took the case, and said, "Let me help you." I relinquished control and thanked him. Assisted him in getting the case into the trunk. I told this young man that it was very sweet of him and again expressed my appreciation. I went back into the building for the bench and brought it to the car.
I'm not writing this to knock those who saw me and didn't offer their assistance. I don't know...it just amazes me where you find people who do good deeds for others.
Asking for help does not come easily for me whether trying to find a destination or lifting heavy objects and usually turn down most offers for assistance. Think it's in the genes. No wonder my dad used to call my mother, grandmother, and me "three peas in a pod."
Several times I've taken my keyboard over to the church building for Praise Band practices and Celebration performances. A few have offered their assistance when time to take the equipment back home, which I politely declined. One particular instance comes to mind. Greg was the offerer. I, of course, refused and Steve chimed in that I probably had more strength than the preacher man anyway.
After the band's performance last month, I left my equipment in the church building until after I moved to a new apartment, in another county, and only three miles from work (an upcoming blog). After service this past Sunday, while people were still mingling in the auditorium, I entered the former "Holy Place" and took the keyboard stand out the side door, down the stairs to the car and came back in. Grabbed the keyboard case and lugged it out the door (while others watched and a few stepped aside), down the stairs to the parking lot heading toward the Saturn. A young man in shorts with several tatoos holding hands with his female companion was cutting across the parking lot and asked if I needed any help. I smiled and said "No, thanks" and kept on walking. He stopped and said, "Where are you going?" I pointed to the car and he walked up to me, took the case, and said, "Let me help you." I relinquished control and thanked him. Assisted him in getting the case into the trunk. I told this young man that it was very sweet of him and again expressed my appreciation. I went back into the building for the bench and brought it to the car.
I'm not writing this to knock those who saw me and didn't offer their assistance. I don't know...it just amazes me where you find people who do good deeds for others.
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