QUITE SURPRISED

Have had my share of aches and pains or those “just don’t feel that great” days but usually ignore the discomfort and just go on with business with an occasional popping of a pill. Seldom do I feel bad enough to stay home or change my daily routine (or more accurately, my exercise routine).

Since moving from Long Beach the commuting switched from weekday roundtrips to work to Sunday roundtrips to church. Woke up Sunday morning and didn’t feel great and slept about two hours later than usual (making it around 6:30) but knew I would feel better if I went for my daily walk, but decided to cut it short. Offered to drive and pick up Mom and Dad at a church they have attended previously but decided I could at least make it through worship at Long Beach. Mom didn’t like the idea of my going so far just in case something happened and she would have to drive home. Rested a little and had every intention to go to Long Beach but at the moment a ½ mile commute and a 45-minute service was more alluring. Knew it would not be my cup of tea but you go to please and worship God, not to be entertained. And have always gotten some inspired tidbit from any sermon.

The building had architectural presence but attendance was sparse, those members being elderly with the majority living in the retirement center next door, including the pastor. The service started with a song from the hymnal…one I never heard before…along with piano accompaniment. The song leader needed to power it down. The pastor offered a prayer and gave the announcements, followed by the offering (communion is only once a month), and then another song--Bringing in the Sheaves (reminded me of an episode of The Waltons). Another gentleman led a prayer where he was sitting and then the Ladies Trio belted out a song (yes, I think that was their real name)—three ladies with similar white coiffures, dressed in identical-patterned attire but different colors each with matching stringed pearls. Not half bad. Sang on pitch but still a reminder of what I’d see on Lawrence Welk. After only 15 minutes into the service, the sermon began. It was titled, The Gospel, Paul Preached with Scrupulous Devotion (I Tim 4:6-16). Pastor Bob was a very good speaker and talked about the lack of sound doctrine being preached in many churches today and considered the five fundamentals of the gospel to be as follows: 1) belief in the Deity, 2) that Jesus is the son of God, 3) salvation only comes through Jesus, 4) belief in the resurrection, and 5) belief in the second coming. Although I’m sure these truisms were discussed, my only recollection while growing up in the C of C were the five steps to becoming a Christian: hear, believe, repent, confess, and be baptized.

The sermon ran 30 minutes long…and, yes, actually did time it because curiosity got the best of me to see if this guy would top some of those long-winded preachers I’ve been fortunate to hear.

We were home by 11:00 and it was surprisingly not as bad as I had expected, but still missed being at Long Beach. Decided to crash on my sleeping bag…You know, feeling sick is the only time I really miss having a bed.

WHEN THINGS DON'T GO AS PLANNED

An athlete who is injured and can no longer play his chosen sport. An individual who has been employed with the same company for numerous years is overlooked for a promotion. An engaged couple break up and call off their wedding. Who hasn't experienced disappointment, frustration, and heartbreak when goals are not achieved, arrangements must be altered, invitations are rescinded, or long held ideals are not to be. I suspect that many parents want the best for their children and try to raise them accordingly. They want them to have a college degree, have successful careers, find love, get married, and have children, usually in that order, but many parents must overcome their disappointment when their children choose to follow a different path.

How do you convey the news of what should be a great event; something that would produce overwhelming excitement and an enormous smile? The best way for me would be to mention it in writing so in my last blog I casually threw in an interesting tidbit--"visiting my grandson for the first time"--to see who would catch it and had expected it to elicit a few comments. But nope. Nothing. Nada. Maybe you were too embarrassed to do so or were at a loss for words. Steve, however, did say something to me Sunday morning, so I felt it necessary to come up with an appropriate introduction to my news.

My grandson's name is Deagan. He is so cute, adorable, cuddly, and you could just squeeze him to death but not as docile as I had hoped. So with consent of the father, here is a picture of my gorgeous grandson.








I thought this would be funny and a couple of my friends agreed. Mom...didn't find it amusing whatsoever. What can I say? When things don't go as planned--this little joke of mine certainly fell flat on its face.

A WEEK IN THE LIFE OF...

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.

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.

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.

UNBELIEVABLE

It’s good to be back at work after a two-week break. The summer session started Monday and although it was a zoo, still was glad to have my job.

There are rules and regulations for just about everything. The student health center at the community college I work at is no exception. There are set guidelines that must be followed. Students must be enrolled in the current semester and have paid the mandatory health fee in order to see a nurse, a doctor, or a counselor, free of charge; or to receive immunizations or other testing for various dollar amounts. Everyone who enters the health center, students and staff alike, must complete the sign-in sheet. Due to the privacy laws, or in other words, HIPAA, the names of those who sign in must be marked out. New patients must fill out three documents—general information, medical history, and sign a consent form giving permission to be treated. Simple. Easy to follow. Quite elementary. Well, apparently not for some people.

Wednesday afternoon a young gentleman (and I use that term loosely) came in and said he was sent by the trainer to see the nurse. Told him to sign in. After checking our records, advised him that a health fee needed to be paid in the cashier’s office first. He became agitated and told me he would pay it afterwards. I again told him our policy. He asked if he could pay it later and that someone else had told him he didn’t have to pay the fee first. We kept playing this song and dance; actually this individual kept questioning everything I said. I told him if he wanted to see the nurse, he would have to pay the fee now. With reluctance he left; but I kept my composure and it wasn’t easy.

One-half hour later we were graced with the presence of Mr. Attitude once again. Told him to sign back in. Mr. A peered down at the sign-in sheet and questioned why his name had been crossed out. Tried to explain the privacy regulations but it fell on deaf ears, and he continued to argue. I told Mr. A I didn’t need his attitude, and he gave it right back to me. Although he denied being a new patient, there was no history on record so I asked Mr. A to complete the necessary forms. He argued that he had already done so and refused to fill out any more. We went round and round again. I made a chart and attached a note of patient’s refusal to fill out the forms as well as his crappy behavior and put the file in the back.

Without the forms there would be no service and the personal trainer was called to come talk to Mr. A. She tried to explain. He just didn’t want to hear it. She went round and round with him but, of course, he was the victim and had done nothing wrong. In a few minutes there was the trainer, the coordinator/head nurse of the center, the office manager, and myself trying to reason with this guy. Nothing was accomplished. Just a waste of time. Mr. A still wouldn’t fill out the forms and left.

What else was there to do but shake our heads. UNREAL!!! Mr. A was as thick headed as they come and apparently has issues with being told what to do. The trainer said this was the first time in 20 years she was ever called to the health center to assist in problems with one of the athletes.

Our office manager always gets involved if she sees her staff being abused and during this time and his earlier visit, she kept turning around, but she realized I was holding my own. Later our health educator teased me by asking if I had anger issues.

All in all, I still love my job and will continue to do so no matter how many jackasses enter through the door.

AMITYVILLE HORROR REVISITED

Have you ever had a feeling that something was wrong, amiss, not quite right, or a twinge in the gut that something dreadful was about to be discovered?

After eating dinner and finishing that nightly ritual of teeth maintenance, walked back into the bathroom for just a minute and don’t always find it necessary to turn on the light. As I turned to leave, my left barefoot felt something moist and wet. Not near the sink. Not near the shower. Not near the hand towel. As a matter of fact, not anywhere you would expect to find a little stray liquid. The first instinct was that it came from the ceiling and stared up as I turned on the light. Nothing noticeable and looked down to see more than half the floor covered in water and most of it accumulated around the toilet and spreading outward. There also was at least an inch of water inside the shower. For the past few weeks the shower had been draining very slowly and thought about taking a wire hanger and fishing out the gunk from the drain but would forget about it until starting to take the next shower. Although I had not used the shower that day, did hear the neighbors using theirs earlier.

The water level continued to double in volume as the gurgling actions bounced back and forth between the shower and the toilet, reminding me of the classic movie but without the green slime. Informed the manager who gave me a beach towel and mop to wipe up the mess and came to take a peek. The water was coming from the wall behind the toilet. Carol flushed my toilet and the water rose and stopped just before it overflowed. After checking next door, Carol advised that their toilet had indeed run over and the tub was full of water. She had my neighbor plug up the tub so the water in my shower would stop rising.

Unfortunately, I was told the plumber would not be coming until the next morning around 8, 9, or 10. So, where does one go to alleviate? Although Carol thought it would be okay to use the toilet, I wasn’t going to take a chance. Luckily I had two places to go—my parents or the church building. Church was closer and thought about staying and sleeping on a pew but came home, went to sleep and repeated the process at 1:30 am and again at 5:00 before going to walk. Went to play a little tennis and to get milk at Ralph’s and upon my return noticed the water level in the shower would soon be trickling out onto the floor. Spent a little time bailing out water and pouring it into the sink. Now I could somewhat understand the misfortune of those people whose houses flood during natural disasters.

By the time the plumber arrived, I had to bail out water two more times. The plumber snaked out the pipes from the rooftop as well as the showers and was surprised that he had not been called out last night. The owner had obviously thought it could wait, but whom is he kidding—it would have cost more money. What a cheapskate!