I received a call from the cardiac rehab department at the hospital. They were reminding me to be there and advised me on what to wear and to allow plenty of time for the evaluation.
Then, she told me that they had checked my insurance coverage and my co-pay would be $35.00/US.
Each time.
Three times each week.
Twelve weeks. Minimum.
When I checked with my insurance company last week I was told that rehab was completely covered. I guess not.
The conservative total for this will be more than $1200.00. It depends on how quickly my heart heals. I told her that I could not afford any of that and was feeling just plain crappy when we finished.
I called the health club at which I can have a free, although limited, membership. That membership is provided by my insurance company. They are happy to have me, even so recently after a major heart event. So, my plan is to go there and sign up after my first and, likely, last rehab appointment.
So, anyway, I was feeling better because they help heart patients there all the time and I will have the information from my rehab evaluation session and I was offered a free session with a personal trainer to help me set up an exercise plan. I was feeling even better.
Then I received another call from the hospital cardiac rehab department, and the woman who called told me it was pointless for me to use the evaluation appointment if I was not planning on continuing for the whole term. I explained that it was not that I wanted to avoid those, but that I could not afford to continue. She was not very nice and I had the feeling that I would become a lost cash-flow patient. I began to feel terrible.
She went on and on and I kept apologizing for not having enough money and finally she said that I would need at least four sessions and that I would be inadequately prepared for a decent recovery. By this time I was crying and trying to not let her hear me. I told her that I would take good notes during those sessions and take whatever brochures they might have. Still scolding me (at least it felt like that to me) she agreed to let me come to the first one, although she stressed that what I could afford would be inadequate. I promised her I would do my best and she told me that rehab was not supposed to cause stress and that I needed to take a deep breath. I am feeling a little weepy just writing this.
So, anyway, I will go this week and take the sessions I can afford and figure out how to get the rest of the money so that I can take the entire course, as I do not want to die right now. The survival rate for heart patients who take full advantage of cardiac rehabilitation is over five years. Those who do not take the therapy usually die within three years.
I have a small investment that I was holding dear for the years to come, especially if our Social Security system fails, but I have two choices. I can sell that investment, pay for the rehab and hopefully get a few more years. Or, I can not sell it and die without being able to eventually use it.
There really is only one choice. And, I guess what bothers me the most about this whole freaking mess is that it is simply another aspect of the Haves, those who have enough disposable funds to afford better insurance as well as the added costs of rehab or anything else health-wise they need, and those who do not have.
I used to be one of Haves. I had to go through hell to be one of those folk, but I was one until I could no longer be in that other life, where I would have died and, interestingly enough, avoided this heart problem. I am not complaining. Really. I have the means to sacrifice and get the health care I need. I am not happy about it, but as I said, I would so much like to live more than a couple of years longer.
I was still stressing about this whilst watching my grandsons so that their parents could celebrate their anniversary. It is only their second because they married on leap year day, today, February 29th. And, I was thinking, what do people without insurance do, and I already know the answer. I lived it when I was homeless and going through the divorce and it is a disgusting factor of life for most of the people I have worked with during the past decade. More.
Many of my clients, and others with whom I have worked, have never had any kind of health insurance. They, their spouses, their children and their parents share a legacy of need that includes so many of the things that we take for granted. We may be socially conscious, be volunteers, make donations of money or time to worthy organizations or we may not. And, you know, it really does not matter beyond the moment of giving or helping because those problems are not going anywhere; they are simply and dishearteningly waiting until that moment of help passes. There are not any long term solutions to anything connected with poverty.
Except that I believe there are solutions.
Education for everyone, even those students and families that are challenging.
Job training for those who slip through the cracks of our educational system and can turn their lives around at any age.
No one has to throw money at anything poverty related. People just need the extra help they need. Not one single person is beyond help and learning, no matter what crappy choices they have made in their lives.
It is interesting that my daughter and I had a similar conversation when I was in the hospital. It centered on how difficult of a time I was having choosing a candidate for whom I could vote this fall. She is a staunch Republican (where did I go wrong...smile/grin/chuckle) and I am a tree hugging, Berk wearing, granola eating pacifist and as Independent as it is possible to be and still be able to live among other people. Really.
It delved into health care and other social constructs and at one point she said that she does not enjoy talking about politics but she loves talking with me. Sweet girl.
And, there we are. I am no long a Have, but because of some resources and an amazing family I am managing to avoid be a Have-Not. I am not going to let the loss of that cushion bother me, because I believe that I will always have what I need when I need it, and I guess that is why I have that small investment and why I have it right now.
I am hoping that that I will not feel unwarranted sensitivity and and a poor-me feeling when I meet that woman at the cardiac rehab place. I will pull up my BGP before I get off the elevator at the hospital, although I will have to hope that it does not contain a camera.
There are times when it is difficult to remember how blessed I am, and those time slide right in so easily that I barely notice until my panic subsides. I cannot let fear or loss or need or anything that helps me feel deprived, because I am not. I have a life worth fighting for and worth sacrificing for over and over again. I deserve this now new life, no matter how long it lasts.
And, I am absolutely not going to waste a moment on anything but happiness and safety and love and family and all that I can cram into every single moment.
Monday, February 29, 2016
Friday, February 26, 2016
post weirdness
The whole hospital and surgery thing is still surreal. I had an appointment with my internist yesterday. I was a little breathless from getting ready and rushing to the clinic and she did another EKG, which was fine, but she cautioned me that if the same thing does not go away in a minute, or if I experience any pressure or pain that I have to go to the emergency room again.
Fine. I would rather be thought foolish, heck you can even call me a freaking idiot, than to die from this after everything that has happened in this wee charmed life of mine. I am sure that wonky things happen to everyone, but I wonder how many of us recognize the times when we nearly did not survive some thing. Me, well, since I left that other life, I kind of dwell on those past events. Not intentionally, but if one pops into my mind, it stays there a while and it helps me to be grateful for being here and having this new now life.
It has a second component and that is I examine what happened and try to find alternatives for what I did or said or thought that might have changed the situation or circumstance. Most of the time I am clear in my mind that I could not have done anything to change the result or defuse the situation. I guess that is the proof that I was helpless to change anything.
Yet, there are other times when I have such yearning for better intuition or foresight or something that I could have used to alert myself to the coming storm. That complete lack of knowledge was how it was in the early years. I got along just fine as long as I followed the rules. As that first ten years went on I had a kind of happiness that I was making him happy. It is only in retrospect that I realize I was simply finding ways to survive. How stupid that young wife was...I can hardly accept that she was, still is, me. It took too many years and too many close calls for me to leave. Amen.
This heart thing is different. Despite months of self-diagnosis, I still paid attention to the pain and went to the emergency room. I did not think of it as a close call, despite the speed at which everything happened, until my internist appointment.
I asked two questions that I did not want to wait to ask my cardiologist (I have a cardiologist??????) week after next. The first was about how the artery in my wrist heals after the stent surgery, which is just fine. It is a slightly more extreme version of drawing blood. That has to be the understatement of the year.
The other question was about the general health of my heart, especially concerning the plaque deposits.
The stents were place in the branches of my left coronary/main artery. That artery was completely clear of disease. The central branch was the one 90% closed, with all of its branches clear. The other two stents were placed in the left branch off of the main artery, in two of its branches, which were 90 & 70% blocked. The rest of my heart is disease free. I had fully expected to hear that I had damaged my heart in other ways, but that is not so. Nice.
After the discussion and demonstration of the arteries, she leaned towards me and told me that I narrowly escaped a major heart attack, by a day or so. How anyone can know that I cannot understand, but perhaps these doctors know from experience or something.
I am one super-lucky girl. Anyway, I begin my cardiac assessment next week and after a treadmill stress test we will have enough information to begin rehabilitation therapy. Despite my aversion to exercise, just like the blood thinning medications, it is going to be a permanent part of my life. Like, until I die, which after all this, I hope is a long time in the future.
I felt strong enough to do some spring cleaning today, but stopped twice when I felt a little breathy. And, yes, if I am going to clean, it is going to be a nice, deep clean so that straightening and dusting will seem like little pleasures. I, personally, find that hard to believe, but you never know.
One more thing. I thought I was saving money by buying shelf covering at the dollar store. I was wrong. One roll covers only the front of one my cabinet shelves, in a very small cabinet in this very small and old kitchen. Man.
Off to have a salad lunch, with one of the big beefsteak tomatoes and some avocado I got on the way home yesterday. Healthy hearts unite.
Allrighty, one more thing.
Do not take your health symptoms and/or concerns lightly. Despite the commonly-thought reluctance of the male species to avoid going to the doctor, it turns out that women are even more reluctant, often waiting until something has become more serious.
I have been having those pains, in one manifestation or another for a very long time. Even though I am painfully honest now, I have not yet shared that I had these same pains twice before, attributing them to having pneumonia. What an idiot I am. I mentioned them to my doctor, but did nothing to stress how painful it really was.
Do not do that.
Heart disease symptoms are often (not always) different from what men have. Mine were even different from what the traditional symptoms are for women with heart issues.
That is why I was so certain of my self-diagnosis and my doctor was not overly concerned (even though we talked about heart health) since I had successfully passed a nuclear stress a scant six months ago, there had to have been some indication of disease even then.
During my appointment yesterday she told me she was sorry. I told her she did nothing wrong, nor did she miss anything. And, the truth is exactly that. She gave me excellent care. Assigning blame is a place that we are not going. I am not even blaming myself for being timid about my symptoms and the entirety of my life of no concern about how my eating and lack of exercise could be contributing to my health. Same thing for the stress I lived under for more than four decades. Maybe longer, but I am being conservative.
My life is a No-Blame-Zone.
Fine. I would rather be thought foolish, heck you can even call me a freaking idiot, than to die from this after everything that has happened in this wee charmed life of mine. I am sure that wonky things happen to everyone, but I wonder how many of us recognize the times when we nearly did not survive some thing. Me, well, since I left that other life, I kind of dwell on those past events. Not intentionally, but if one pops into my mind, it stays there a while and it helps me to be grateful for being here and having this new now life.
It has a second component and that is I examine what happened and try to find alternatives for what I did or said or thought that might have changed the situation or circumstance. Most of the time I am clear in my mind that I could not have done anything to change the result or defuse the situation. I guess that is the proof that I was helpless to change anything.
Yet, there are other times when I have such yearning for better intuition or foresight or something that I could have used to alert myself to the coming storm. That complete lack of knowledge was how it was in the early years. I got along just fine as long as I followed the rules. As that first ten years went on I had a kind of happiness that I was making him happy. It is only in retrospect that I realize I was simply finding ways to survive. How stupid that young wife was...I can hardly accept that she was, still is, me. It took too many years and too many close calls for me to leave. Amen.
This heart thing is different. Despite months of self-diagnosis, I still paid attention to the pain and went to the emergency room. I did not think of it as a close call, despite the speed at which everything happened, until my internist appointment.
I asked two questions that I did not want to wait to ask my cardiologist (I have a cardiologist??????) week after next. The first was about how the artery in my wrist heals after the stent surgery, which is just fine. It is a slightly more extreme version of drawing blood. That has to be the understatement of the year.
The other question was about the general health of my heart, especially concerning the plaque deposits.
The stents were place in the branches of my left coronary/main artery. That artery was completely clear of disease. The central branch was the one 90% closed, with all of its branches clear. The other two stents were placed in the left branch off of the main artery, in two of its branches, which were 90 & 70% blocked. The rest of my heart is disease free. I had fully expected to hear that I had damaged my heart in other ways, but that is not so. Nice.
After the discussion and demonstration of the arteries, she leaned towards me and told me that I narrowly escaped a major heart attack, by a day or so. How anyone can know that I cannot understand, but perhaps these doctors know from experience or something.
I am one super-lucky girl. Anyway, I begin my cardiac assessment next week and after a treadmill stress test we will have enough information to begin rehabilitation therapy. Despite my aversion to exercise, just like the blood thinning medications, it is going to be a permanent part of my life. Like, until I die, which after all this, I hope is a long time in the future.
I felt strong enough to do some spring cleaning today, but stopped twice when I felt a little breathy. And, yes, if I am going to clean, it is going to be a nice, deep clean so that straightening and dusting will seem like little pleasures. I, personally, find that hard to believe, but you never know.
One more thing. I thought I was saving money by buying shelf covering at the dollar store. I was wrong. One roll covers only the front of one my cabinet shelves, in a very small cabinet in this very small and old kitchen. Man.
Off to have a salad lunch, with one of the big beefsteak tomatoes and some avocado I got on the way home yesterday. Healthy hearts unite.
Allrighty, one more thing.
Do not take your health symptoms and/or concerns lightly. Despite the commonly-thought reluctance of the male species to avoid going to the doctor, it turns out that women are even more reluctant, often waiting until something has become more serious.
I have been having those pains, in one manifestation or another for a very long time. Even though I am painfully honest now, I have not yet shared that I had these same pains twice before, attributing them to having pneumonia. What an idiot I am. I mentioned them to my doctor, but did nothing to stress how painful it really was.
Do not do that.
Heart disease symptoms are often (not always) different from what men have. Mine were even different from what the traditional symptoms are for women with heart issues.
That is why I was so certain of my self-diagnosis and my doctor was not overly concerned (even though we talked about heart health) since I had successfully passed a nuclear stress a scant six months ago, there had to have been some indication of disease even then.
During my appointment yesterday she told me she was sorry. I told her she did nothing wrong, nor did she miss anything. And, the truth is exactly that. She gave me excellent care. Assigning blame is a place that we are not going. I am not even blaming myself for being timid about my symptoms and the entirety of my life of no concern about how my eating and lack of exercise could be contributing to my health. Same thing for the stress I lived under for more than four decades. Maybe longer, but I am being conservative.
My life is a No-Blame-Zone.
Wednesday, February 24, 2016
she was eaten by wolves. and, then, they ate her dogs.
That is the answer to the question, "How did your mother die?"
More about that later. So, anyways, there I was, salad finished, still hungry because I have cut way-way-waaaaaaay back on how much I eat since getting that crappy cold six weeks ago. During the first two weeks I had little appetite. Full of mucus leaking out of everywhere. Stuffiness, congestion and a cough that made my lungs ache, or at least the chest and back muscles that support the lungs, or at least outside the rib cage.
That cough hung on and the pain got worse, got better and got worse. It began just over my left lung and/or in my left arm pit. Spread as the days went on. Shoulder, chest and back, under left breast, left neck/jaw/face. I had a test follow-up a month ago and my doctor and I talked about that pain. She said the first thing she thinks of is heart problems, but I had a clear and pretty darn healthy stress test before last year's biopsy. And, I kept insisting that it had to be associated with my lung, the coughing, congesting, mucus plugs, asthma, the whole big, gross thing.
I was wrong.
Thursday last I spent the day at my volunteer job at the food pantry/thrift shop. It was my first day back since I had come down with that cold. I hauled huge black trash bags full of donation clothing, 25/35/40 pound boxes of stuff. Lifted, moved, shoved and pulled. Just everything that we do there.
I went home and had my salad for early dinner because I was hungry and then sat down to read and maybe watch television if I could stay awake that long. I must have drifted off around six-thirty and was woken by that pain that I have been having for six weeks. Only, worse. Maybe the worse pain I have had since giving birth, which was an emergency cesarean begun before the anesthesia took effect. And, yes, I do remember that pain for the bit before I went down.
This was worse. Still, I tried to pace it off until I knew that someone had to give me some pain medication, and fast. So, I tore off my night jammies, pulled on a pair of slacks and a top and grabbed my purse. I could not lift it, so I took my wallet (insurance information inside), keys and drove myself to the emergency room. Not to my hospital, but to one that was closer.
I am not sure about the next half hour, sort of generally, but not many details. The pain eventually went away. Mostly. And, I was asked to stay overnight. My query about going home and coming back the next morning were explained away so that I did stay.
I was worried about the costs and how much it would cost to go home the next day, feeling very foolish, after a day of expensive and pointless testing.
I had all the tests you can imagine and everyone kept saying how great my circulation was and how great all the ultrasound and stress test images looked and the hard copy was great and everything was great.
I went back to my room. My daughter and I chatted about what a head-rush the whole thing was and lots of other stuff. Somehow my wish to move out to the middle of no-where out west came up and I told her that I am still drawn there, and that it might be that my chance to actually move there has passed without me realizing it. It would have been nice to live in that house I found, old but nice, the barns and outbuildings fairly new and in super shape. I could grow my food, raise cattle, chickens and sheep, maybe goats and have lots of dogs, for the simple love of dogs, but also for protection from the wolves and coyotes.
If I had, said my daughter, in the years to come, if someone asked how her mother had died, she would have told them that the wolves ate me and then ate my dogs. We were still laughing when the hospitalist came in and asked how I was. I replied that I was just waiting to be discharged. Then his phone rang and we joked about how you should never get between a doctor and his cell phone. More merriment.
I was wrong, again. He came back and told me that my stress tests looked a bit off and that I was going to meet a cardiologist and have a catheterization that afternoon, or the next morning.
Frankly, all I could think of was how grateful I was that I had not had anything to eat since early evening the day before. Anyway, my daughter left to fetch the boys from school, give them snacks and come back to visit. Half an hour later I had the surgery. Three stents, one in a major coronary artery that was 90% blocked, with the other two close behind.
I am home, fine and feeling that it my daughter had not been there through the whole thing, that the surreality of it all would make it even more unbelievable.
So, now I have a cardiologist. My heart has never been any kind of health concern for me. The rest of my body needs attention, but not my heart. I think the weirdest part is that, having done lots of consulting with Dr. Google (Mayo Clinic, NIH) my diet is fine except for juicy red meat. That is being replaced by more fish, more poultry and ground turkey.
I have an appointment with my internist, one on Tuesday with the cardiac rehabilitation department at not-my hospital, followed by a follow-up with that cardiologist.
Anyway, I feel fine. Without pain for the first time in a long time. No so crazy about being unable to avoid regular exercise. Nope. Not at all. I will not protest or challenge what needs to be done, and it is my hope that it will eventually be less horrible, but I am not liking the prospect very much.
Other than that, everything is cool and groovy, I no longer feel foolish, and that is my story and I am stickin' to it.
More about that later. So, anyways, there I was, salad finished, still hungry because I have cut way-way-waaaaaaay back on how much I eat since getting that crappy cold six weeks ago. During the first two weeks I had little appetite. Full of mucus leaking out of everywhere. Stuffiness, congestion and a cough that made my lungs ache, or at least the chest and back muscles that support the lungs, or at least outside the rib cage.
That cough hung on and the pain got worse, got better and got worse. It began just over my left lung and/or in my left arm pit. Spread as the days went on. Shoulder, chest and back, under left breast, left neck/jaw/face. I had a test follow-up a month ago and my doctor and I talked about that pain. She said the first thing she thinks of is heart problems, but I had a clear and pretty darn healthy stress test before last year's biopsy. And, I kept insisting that it had to be associated with my lung, the coughing, congesting, mucus plugs, asthma, the whole big, gross thing.
I was wrong.
Thursday last I spent the day at my volunteer job at the food pantry/thrift shop. It was my first day back since I had come down with that cold. I hauled huge black trash bags full of donation clothing, 25/35/40 pound boxes of stuff. Lifted, moved, shoved and pulled. Just everything that we do there.
I went home and had my salad for early dinner because I was hungry and then sat down to read and maybe watch television if I could stay awake that long. I must have drifted off around six-thirty and was woken by that pain that I have been having for six weeks. Only, worse. Maybe the worse pain I have had since giving birth, which was an emergency cesarean begun before the anesthesia took effect. And, yes, I do remember that pain for the bit before I went down.
This was worse. Still, I tried to pace it off until I knew that someone had to give me some pain medication, and fast. So, I tore off my night jammies, pulled on a pair of slacks and a top and grabbed my purse. I could not lift it, so I took my wallet (insurance information inside), keys and drove myself to the emergency room. Not to my hospital, but to one that was closer.
I am not sure about the next half hour, sort of generally, but not many details. The pain eventually went away. Mostly. And, I was asked to stay overnight. My query about going home and coming back the next morning were explained away so that I did stay.
I was worried about the costs and how much it would cost to go home the next day, feeling very foolish, after a day of expensive and pointless testing.
I had all the tests you can imagine and everyone kept saying how great my circulation was and how great all the ultrasound and stress test images looked and the hard copy was great and everything was great.
I went back to my room. My daughter and I chatted about what a head-rush the whole thing was and lots of other stuff. Somehow my wish to move out to the middle of no-where out west came up and I told her that I am still drawn there, and that it might be that my chance to actually move there has passed without me realizing it. It would have been nice to live in that house I found, old but nice, the barns and outbuildings fairly new and in super shape. I could grow my food, raise cattle, chickens and sheep, maybe goats and have lots of dogs, for the simple love of dogs, but also for protection from the wolves and coyotes.
If I had, said my daughter, in the years to come, if someone asked how her mother had died, she would have told them that the wolves ate me and then ate my dogs. We were still laughing when the hospitalist came in and asked how I was. I replied that I was just waiting to be discharged. Then his phone rang and we joked about how you should never get between a doctor and his cell phone. More merriment.
I was wrong, again. He came back and told me that my stress tests looked a bit off and that I was going to meet a cardiologist and have a catheterization that afternoon, or the next morning.
Frankly, all I could think of was how grateful I was that I had not had anything to eat since early evening the day before. Anyway, my daughter left to fetch the boys from school, give them snacks and come back to visit. Half an hour later I had the surgery. Three stents, one in a major coronary artery that was 90% blocked, with the other two close behind.
I am home, fine and feeling that it my daughter had not been there through the whole thing, that the surreality of it all would make it even more unbelievable.
So, now I have a cardiologist. My heart has never been any kind of health concern for me. The rest of my body needs attention, but not my heart. I think the weirdest part is that, having done lots of consulting with Dr. Google (Mayo Clinic, NIH) my diet is fine except for juicy red meat. That is being replaced by more fish, more poultry and ground turkey.
I have an appointment with my internist, one on Tuesday with the cardiac rehabilitation department at not-my hospital, followed by a follow-up with that cardiologist.
Anyway, I feel fine. Without pain for the first time in a long time. No so crazy about being unable to avoid regular exercise. Nope. Not at all. I will not protest or challenge what needs to be done, and it is my hope that it will eventually be less horrible, but I am not liking the prospect very much.
Other than that, everything is cool and groovy, I no longer feel foolish, and that is my story and I am stickin' to it.
Tuesday, January 12, 2016
to have the capacity of apprehending sound
The definition of the word hear. By and large, most people hear only what they want to hear, you know, really hear what someone else is sharing, and not just being the receptacle that apprehends sound. Or, more properly, only what they need and long and desire to hear. Heck, I do it myself. I cannot even begin to estimate how often I am listening to someone (an entirely different process) and am barely paying attention to what they are saying.
Oh, sure, I can keep up with the conversation and all that jazz, but being attentive and fully involved in the conversation really does not happen all that often. What the person is sharing is their view or opinion or experience, but not mine. Sometimes I am thinking more about what I am going to say, and that means that what I am hearing is muted by my own thoughts. What the other person is saying is more like background noise. That does not mean that I care little for the person or what she/he is talking about, because I would most likely not be there in the first place, but sometimes I do not care sufficiently to be properly immersed in the dialogue.
We all do it. We all have it done to us. Life goes on and we get over it, or at least accustomed to never expecting to be fully heard. Well, that is probably not true. In that other life I would have given just about anything to be heard. I still feel the loss of that. It is echoingly empty and frighteningly scary to try to communicate and never, or rarely, be heard or understood or to know that the other person simply does not care to hear you, and that that person would be much happier if you just shut the fuck up for a change. Another story.
But, my point is that it is a common, universal experience. We all have our own needs and I guess it is impossible for any of us to find the kindness, support and selflessness to be a good listener all the time. Another point is that it does not often make any difference, mostly because the other person is probably thinking of the next things he/she wants to say while they are still talking to you and before you have a turn at speaking.
What brought all this on is that I was sharing some of my experiences at finding health insurance for other people, those who did not have access to computers or other resources, or the personal experience of trying to maneuver the insane mess that finding decent insurance or other stuff. It is what it is, and too many people are stuck with what they know and who they have in their lives to help with this kind of thing. Factor in limited financial resources and some people simply give up.
Even those with decent finances can be overwhelmed by the process. And, last week one of my coffee friends asked if I would help her find insurance that she could afford, based on the group's conversation of the previous week. I agreed and knew, with complete certainty that I would be able to find insurance coverage that met her health and medication needs that would be friendly to her budget. In fact, I was pretty sure that I could wow the BGP off of her.
So, I got basic information from her so that I could begin the search. I found a few plans that would give good, basic coverage at fees that began at zero, deductibles that also began at zero and all her medication and have her preferred doctor included in the plan.
I called and gave her the information and she told me that she forgot to mention her pension, which more than tripled her yearly income. Yikes. I said I would work the new numbers and get back to her. I was able to do so when I returned from my tests appointment at the lab, sharing that I found plans that began with less than $150.00/US in premiums per month and with very low deductibles, and did include her meds and doctor.
Alrighty then. Turns out that part of our group conversation, two of the other babes and I were talking about our supplemental/advantage insurance to supplement our Medicare (old people insurance) and that all of us had found ways to decrease our monthly premiums by at least twenty dollars. Score!!! Those sup/adv plans, for us, are costing us from $30.00/US...me...to $205.00/US...friend #3 per month. Mine covers only the basics because Medicare covers all of my diabetes needs and the extra premium covers prescription medications, basic dental preventative care and a vision exam, whilst the plan friend #1's premium covers every single one of her very specific and expensive health issues. Friend #2 falls in between us, and her insurance needs include a husband with some health concerns, too.
Plus, Medicare insurance costs $106.00/US per month right off the bat, and our sup/adv plans are added to that. So, my monthly cost is $136.00 per month and so on...
However, what my friend though she heard was that I found complete coverage insurance plans for monthly premiums between $30 and $50 per month. Period. No extra costs for meds, doctor visits, hospital visits, preventative care or co-pays of any kind.
Man, I wish that were even close to possible. It is not, though, and my friend was mightily distressed that I "misinformed her." So, she is really upset because even though her income makes it possible for her to afford just about any premium plan that exists, she also shared that she has a lot of debt and really does not want to spend that much/>$150.00 on insurance.
Truth is that she is quite angry with me. I am hoping that she will find a way beyond her feelings about this, but you just never know. I am hoping that once she has some time to think about it she might take my offer to help her again at any time. Although, first she has to think that I have already helped her.
You know, I talk a lot. It is difficult to make me be quiet. Even a village could not handle it. So, I am used to any listener not paying all that much attention to what I am saying. I am background noise, and I am fine with that. But, I think that I will pay attention to conversations for a while, not only my own, but what I hear around me. That should be pretty interesting.
Oh, sure, I can keep up with the conversation and all that jazz, but being attentive and fully involved in the conversation really does not happen all that often. What the person is sharing is their view or opinion or experience, but not mine. Sometimes I am thinking more about what I am going to say, and that means that what I am hearing is muted by my own thoughts. What the other person is saying is more like background noise. That does not mean that I care little for the person or what she/he is talking about, because I would most likely not be there in the first place, but sometimes I do not care sufficiently to be properly immersed in the dialogue.
We all do it. We all have it done to us. Life goes on and we get over it, or at least accustomed to never expecting to be fully heard. Well, that is probably not true. In that other life I would have given just about anything to be heard. I still feel the loss of that. It is echoingly empty and frighteningly scary to try to communicate and never, or rarely, be heard or understood or to know that the other person simply does not care to hear you, and that that person would be much happier if you just shut the fuck up for a change. Another story.
But, my point is that it is a common, universal experience. We all have our own needs and I guess it is impossible for any of us to find the kindness, support and selflessness to be a good listener all the time. Another point is that it does not often make any difference, mostly because the other person is probably thinking of the next things he/she wants to say while they are still talking to you and before you have a turn at speaking.
What brought all this on is that I was sharing some of my experiences at finding health insurance for other people, those who did not have access to computers or other resources, or the personal experience of trying to maneuver the insane mess that finding decent insurance or other stuff. It is what it is, and too many people are stuck with what they know and who they have in their lives to help with this kind of thing. Factor in limited financial resources and some people simply give up.
Even those with decent finances can be overwhelmed by the process. And, last week one of my coffee friends asked if I would help her find insurance that she could afford, based on the group's conversation of the previous week. I agreed and knew, with complete certainty that I would be able to find insurance coverage that met her health and medication needs that would be friendly to her budget. In fact, I was pretty sure that I could wow the BGP off of her.
So, I got basic information from her so that I could begin the search. I found a few plans that would give good, basic coverage at fees that began at zero, deductibles that also began at zero and all her medication and have her preferred doctor included in the plan.
I called and gave her the information and she told me that she forgot to mention her pension, which more than tripled her yearly income. Yikes. I said I would work the new numbers and get back to her. I was able to do so when I returned from my tests appointment at the lab, sharing that I found plans that began with less than $150.00/US in premiums per month and with very low deductibles, and did include her meds and doctor.
Alrighty then. Turns out that part of our group conversation, two of the other babes and I were talking about our supplemental/advantage insurance to supplement our Medicare (old people insurance) and that all of us had found ways to decrease our monthly premiums by at least twenty dollars. Score!!! Those sup/adv plans, for us, are costing us from $30.00/US...me...to $205.00/US...friend #3 per month. Mine covers only the basics because Medicare covers all of my diabetes needs and the extra premium covers prescription medications, basic dental preventative care and a vision exam, whilst the plan friend #1's premium covers every single one of her very specific and expensive health issues. Friend #2 falls in between us, and her insurance needs include a husband with some health concerns, too.
Plus, Medicare insurance costs $106.00/US per month right off the bat, and our sup/adv plans are added to that. So, my monthly cost is $136.00 per month and so on...
However, what my friend though she heard was that I found complete coverage insurance plans for monthly premiums between $30 and $50 per month. Period. No extra costs for meds, doctor visits, hospital visits, preventative care or co-pays of any kind.
Man, I wish that were even close to possible. It is not, though, and my friend was mightily distressed that I "misinformed her." So, she is really upset because even though her income makes it possible for her to afford just about any premium plan that exists, she also shared that she has a lot of debt and really does not want to spend that much/>$150.00 on insurance.
Truth is that she is quite angry with me. I am hoping that she will find a way beyond her feelings about this, but you just never know. I am hoping that once she has some time to think about it she might take my offer to help her again at any time. Although, first she has to think that I have already helped her.
You know, I talk a lot. It is difficult to make me be quiet. Even a village could not handle it. So, I am used to any listener not paying all that much attention to what I am saying. I am background noise, and I am fine with that. But, I think that I will pay attention to conversations for a while, not only my own, but what I hear around me. That should be pretty interesting.
Friday, January 8, 2016
calendars
Since that smarter than me phone came into my life I have eschewed paper calendars. In the old days I used to keep a big wall calendar at home, one of those desk blotter kinds, with the huge squares and plenty of room to write down everything about which everyone needed reminding. I also kept a small monthly calendar booklet in my bag for jotting down stuff as it came up. It took a decent amount of responsibility to keep them both up to date.
When I worked in a book store we had two extra stores during the winter holidays, both of them selling mostly calendars, but also toys and games and who knew what the hell was going to show up in those weekly deliveries.
One store was in-line. That means that it was a regular store setup, with a door, a back room for overstock and a rest room.
The other store was a kiosk. Those are the island shops in the middle of the mall corridors, that space between long banks of in-line store spaces. The kiosk had scant storage space, long two-sided racks on which to display the calendars and other crap, a small mobile counter and sales space with a cash register. I guess they were called terminals because of the computer components, but they really were just machines that added up the purchases and processed the payments.
The kiosk did not, naturally, have a stock room or rest room. We were dependent on the good heart of the base store/bookstore manager for rest room and lunch breaks. It was a mess that was too distressing and unfriendly to all of humanity to describe now. It still makes me shudder.
So, anyway, I was putting some information into my phone's calendar...oh, my god, I just love that thing sooooo much. That, the built in flashlight and texting are what fuels my day, most days.
And, anyway, some of the old calendar store stuff popped out of my memories. Despite the obvious drawbacks of place and time, as well as crappy managers, I have lots of fun and weird memories of those months each year.
Especially the people hired for those part-time jobs. Most of them were fine, but as the years rolled on we had many amusing anecdotes about the folk hired for those jobs.
There were the people who just stopped showing up. There was the guy who stole the safe from one of the stores we managed at another mall, on his way out the day after Thanksgiving, which is the busiest day of shopping for us. There were the people who found out that we could not keep them after the holidays and just never came back from lunch. There were the other people who just never came back from lunch, for whom we have no idea what happened.
There was the college student who left the kiosk unattended to walk down a few storefronts to watch movies at the video store. When we told him that he could not do that, he started bringing in his laptop so that he could do some of his classwork during slow times at the kiosk. That did happen, both in the early weeks and after the first of the year when we heavily discounted merchandise and sold down as much as possible before closing for the season. He did not do schoolwork, but watched movies at, clearly, a more convenient location, one with a stool. So much better than the video store.
We were just happy if employees showed up on time, stayed their entire shift and did not steal too much from us. Even with such low expectations we often found ourselves disappointed. But, as retail folk all around the world know, you do the best with what you have.
One year we had to make a new rule. You still had to show up on time. You still had to stay for your entire shift. You still had to be subtle about your stealing.
But, now, you had to wear pants.
This was a man who we hired to work shifts at both in-line and kiosk locations. Unfortunately, there was a problem with his wardrobe. Previously, the only clothing rules were that jeans could not be work and that clothing should be modest in appearance. No jeans is pretty clear, but the whole modestly thing was open to personal interpretation and the occasional tussle with someone who did not have a regular standard or practice where modest garments were concerned.
For this particular man, well, he did not wear jeans and his body was appropriately covered, but we were never sure what he wore from the waist down. Maybe it was pants, maybe it was not. But, he came to work on time. He stayed his entire shift and I do not think he took even a paperclip home with him. The whole situation was weird and I often thought about buying a gift card for him to go to one of the department stores in the mall to buy pants, but I could never figure out a way to do so that was not creepier than whatever the heck he was wearing to work.
Other than that, we hired lots of people who followed all of the rules, did not steal and managed to do a damn fine job during a seriously stressful time of the year to be in retail. All of those folk were kept on; part time in the beginning (because we never had enough hours in the first place), and moving up in hours and responsibility as time went on. Some of those fine employees needed only holiday work and we brought them back into the schedule every year.
It and they were a lot of fun and real friendships were formed. Two of them were a young man who came back for at least four seasons, and his girlfriend who joined him after his first year with us. They were fun and cool and hard workers. Informed about books, learned more about books and were good with customers.
The young man was one of my all-time favorite people and we gave him hours that worked well with his studies. One year he was working at the kiosk when something funny happened.
Well, not funny in the beginning. Malls attract all kinds of truly weird, seriously rude and ruthlessly bored visitors. You can do pretty much anything you want in a mall, especially in the public (not store) areas, as long as you buy stuff, even if it is endless big pretzels and soft drinks. But, this is not about that, this is about the young man. I guess he should have a name. We will call him Michael.
So, anyway, Michael was out doing his time in the kiosk during the waning months of sales, after the new year and we were all hanging on, waiting for our turn to be closed. There were few shoppers in the mall those weeks, but plenty of young people who had nothing better to do than find a way to the mall and hang out and avoid the kind of disturbance or annoyance that would get them sent out to play in the traffic until one of their parents came to pick them up.
A group of these youngsters, all boys, were making mischief and decided to hang out around the calendar racks. They were messing up merchandise and being generally stupid. Michael kid his job, straightening up after the fools and asking them to stop making the messes. They would laugh, walk off and eventually return after they were sent away from some other store. After the third time they swaggered back, Michael got more stern with them and told them if they could not behave decently that they would have to stay away.
One of them said to the other fools, "Oh, look, now you made the lady mad."
When Michael came back to the bookstore for his lunch break he shared the whole story with me and I could not stop laughing. Like straight from the belly laughing, on and on. Michael was not upset because he found it funny as well and could not wait to tell me about it.
Thinking about it still makes me laugh, although not much triggers that memory. A few years ago there was a television commercial from one of the cable companies. There was an older man, a dad, who was explaining to a bedraggled man (who was sitting on his living room floor) that he was sorry, but, whilst he enjoyed the cable program on which the oldbedraggly character performed, it was too violent for his children to watch. The vaguebedraggly character looked up at the man, said he understood and then said, "You're a nice lady."
In the scheme of things human, we are all the nice lady. Just going along, doing our best, trying to not metaphorically scold other people in our heads, and avoid allowing other people, unsatisfying circumstances and, oh, just the world in general chip away at our inherent niceness.
All of us just want to be nice and to have other people, with their weird and often selfish agendas, allow us to be nice ladies. Some of us have cat calendars hanging in our kitchens. Others have war planes, sport team, inspirational, humorous or Norman Rockwell calendars. Some of us are doing all of that electronically.
Whatever method we use to keep our lives organized, surely there is room to remind ourselves to be nice ladies even when it seems that everyone and everything is working to wipe those lovely smiles off of our faces and make us want to punch them in the nose.
I have all kinds of alcohol here, most of it gifts, and I never remember to have a bit of any of it. Tonight, with my apple and buttered panettone dinner I am going to have a wee cup of bourbon. Or, maybe, my daughter's homemade limoncello, and make a toast to nice ladies everywhere.
When I worked in a book store we had two extra stores during the winter holidays, both of them selling mostly calendars, but also toys and games and who knew what the hell was going to show up in those weekly deliveries.
One store was in-line. That means that it was a regular store setup, with a door, a back room for overstock and a rest room.
The other store was a kiosk. Those are the island shops in the middle of the mall corridors, that space between long banks of in-line store spaces. The kiosk had scant storage space, long two-sided racks on which to display the calendars and other crap, a small mobile counter and sales space with a cash register. I guess they were called terminals because of the computer components, but they really were just machines that added up the purchases and processed the payments.
The kiosk did not, naturally, have a stock room or rest room. We were dependent on the good heart of the base store/bookstore manager for rest room and lunch breaks. It was a mess that was too distressing and unfriendly to all of humanity to describe now. It still makes me shudder.
So, anyway, I was putting some information into my phone's calendar...oh, my god, I just love that thing sooooo much. That, the built in flashlight and texting are what fuels my day, most days.
And, anyway, some of the old calendar store stuff popped out of my memories. Despite the obvious drawbacks of place and time, as well as crappy managers, I have lots of fun and weird memories of those months each year.
Especially the people hired for those part-time jobs. Most of them were fine, but as the years rolled on we had many amusing anecdotes about the folk hired for those jobs.
There were the people who just stopped showing up. There was the guy who stole the safe from one of the stores we managed at another mall, on his way out the day after Thanksgiving, which is the busiest day of shopping for us. There were the people who found out that we could not keep them after the holidays and just never came back from lunch. There were the other people who just never came back from lunch, for whom we have no idea what happened.
There was the college student who left the kiosk unattended to walk down a few storefronts to watch movies at the video store. When we told him that he could not do that, he started bringing in his laptop so that he could do some of his classwork during slow times at the kiosk. That did happen, both in the early weeks and after the first of the year when we heavily discounted merchandise and sold down as much as possible before closing for the season. He did not do schoolwork, but watched movies at, clearly, a more convenient location, one with a stool. So much better than the video store.
We were just happy if employees showed up on time, stayed their entire shift and did not steal too much from us. Even with such low expectations we often found ourselves disappointed. But, as retail folk all around the world know, you do the best with what you have.
One year we had to make a new rule. You still had to show up on time. You still had to stay for your entire shift. You still had to be subtle about your stealing.
But, now, you had to wear pants.
This was a man who we hired to work shifts at both in-line and kiosk locations. Unfortunately, there was a problem with his wardrobe. Previously, the only clothing rules were that jeans could not be work and that clothing should be modest in appearance. No jeans is pretty clear, but the whole modestly thing was open to personal interpretation and the occasional tussle with someone who did not have a regular standard or practice where modest garments were concerned.
For this particular man, well, he did not wear jeans and his body was appropriately covered, but we were never sure what he wore from the waist down. Maybe it was pants, maybe it was not. But, he came to work on time. He stayed his entire shift and I do not think he took even a paperclip home with him. The whole situation was weird and I often thought about buying a gift card for him to go to one of the department stores in the mall to buy pants, but I could never figure out a way to do so that was not creepier than whatever the heck he was wearing to work.
Other than that, we hired lots of people who followed all of the rules, did not steal and managed to do a damn fine job during a seriously stressful time of the year to be in retail. All of those folk were kept on; part time in the beginning (because we never had enough hours in the first place), and moving up in hours and responsibility as time went on. Some of those fine employees needed only holiday work and we brought them back into the schedule every year.
It and they were a lot of fun and real friendships were formed. Two of them were a young man who came back for at least four seasons, and his girlfriend who joined him after his first year with us. They were fun and cool and hard workers. Informed about books, learned more about books and were good with customers.
The young man was one of my all-time favorite people and we gave him hours that worked well with his studies. One year he was working at the kiosk when something funny happened.
Well, not funny in the beginning. Malls attract all kinds of truly weird, seriously rude and ruthlessly bored visitors. You can do pretty much anything you want in a mall, especially in the public (not store) areas, as long as you buy stuff, even if it is endless big pretzels and soft drinks. But, this is not about that, this is about the young man. I guess he should have a name. We will call him Michael.
So, anyway, Michael was out doing his time in the kiosk during the waning months of sales, after the new year and we were all hanging on, waiting for our turn to be closed. There were few shoppers in the mall those weeks, but plenty of young people who had nothing better to do than find a way to the mall and hang out and avoid the kind of disturbance or annoyance that would get them sent out to play in the traffic until one of their parents came to pick them up.
A group of these youngsters, all boys, were making mischief and decided to hang out around the calendar racks. They were messing up merchandise and being generally stupid. Michael kid his job, straightening up after the fools and asking them to stop making the messes. They would laugh, walk off and eventually return after they were sent away from some other store. After the third time they swaggered back, Michael got more stern with them and told them if they could not behave decently that they would have to stay away.
One of them said to the other fools, "Oh, look, now you made the lady mad."
When Michael came back to the bookstore for his lunch break he shared the whole story with me and I could not stop laughing. Like straight from the belly laughing, on and on. Michael was not upset because he found it funny as well and could not wait to tell me about it.
Thinking about it still makes me laugh, although not much triggers that memory. A few years ago there was a television commercial from one of the cable companies. There was an older man, a dad, who was explaining to a bedraggled man (who was sitting on his living room floor) that he was sorry, but, whilst he enjoyed the cable program on which the oldbedraggly character performed, it was too violent for his children to watch. The vaguebedraggly character looked up at the man, said he understood and then said, "You're a nice lady."
In the scheme of things human, we are all the nice lady. Just going along, doing our best, trying to not metaphorically scold other people in our heads, and avoid allowing other people, unsatisfying circumstances and, oh, just the world in general chip away at our inherent niceness.
All of us just want to be nice and to have other people, with their weird and often selfish agendas, allow us to be nice ladies. Some of us have cat calendars hanging in our kitchens. Others have war planes, sport team, inspirational, humorous or Norman Rockwell calendars. Some of us are doing all of that electronically.
Whatever method we use to keep our lives organized, surely there is room to remind ourselves to be nice ladies even when it seems that everyone and everything is working to wipe those lovely smiles off of our faces and make us want to punch them in the nose.
I have all kinds of alcohol here, most of it gifts, and I never remember to have a bit of any of it. Tonight, with my apple and buttered panettone dinner I am going to have a wee cup of bourbon. Or, maybe, my daughter's homemade limoncello, and make a toast to nice ladies everywhere.
Wednesday, January 6, 2016
meager
I always think, and say, that I have all the time in the world. I kind of live by that notion, accepting that if something is important enough, that I really do have all the time I need. You know, for what is important to me. That is the litmus test for the things or projects or processes that I believe I need to have. Sometimes, or once in a while or frequently, it does not matter how often I tell myself this story.
I guess that it is true, for the most part, because I will always find the time to do the stuff I love, be with the people I love and work at the stuff I love. I feel that way about volunteering. Oh, sure, I like to help and all that jazz, but volunteering, any kind of doing things for others or for campaigns or whatever it might be is pretty satisfying. Were it not, no one would do any of it. Sure, there will always be truly altruistic and self-sacrificing folk who have the kind of purity of spirit who will always rise to whatever need presents itself. Big-hearted people who genuinely care about other people. That sub-species of human who are genuinely human and humane and truly give a rat's fanny about more than just their own needs.
I am not sure where this is going, but suffice it to say that I am not one of those good people. I do what I do because I love doing it. That does not make me better than anyone, and it does make me more selfish than most because I am really invested in how it makes me feel to reach out and do stuff that is beyond my own needs. Or, is it that? What if my need is the thing that drives me? I guess it does not make any difference. As long as I am not hurting anyone or any whatever, then the reasons are irrelevant.
Time is increasingly on my mind. The snow removal problem here reminds me that my physical resources are limited. Whilst I feel well, healthy and all that, I am woefully out of good physical condition. I am still fat. I still do not engage in any regular exercise. All that. I am more bodily fit than I was before I moved here, to this flat with fourteen steps up to my door. Yes, I count them. It is a habit that developed when I began needing to climb that steep and narrow staircase. Counting helped me to actually make it up, breathless and tired, but I did not have any real choice.
Climb up and down the stairs or live in my car. I have already done that in the past several years, so, no thank you, I do not wish to repeat that experience. It did not kill me to live with those circumstances, but it is much less pleasant than you would think, especially in colder weather. Not so great for my cat, either, but we did not have any choice for that, thankfully, brief period.
I think that most people who make it through challenging times are pleased...albeit often a little surprised...that they were able to do so. There may even be a certain amount of smugness connected with surviving tough times, although I am thinking that most survivors would think of their survival as a point of pride and accomplishment, but the whole smug thing is in there as well. I do not think it can be avoided. You know, being human and all.
Unfortunately, time, actual time, is something over which I have no control. I can decide how I will spend it, or as in my case, waste it, and that is not a gratuitous or sympathy inducing statement. I do waste a significant amount of time. Part of it is that I can do whatever I like, not do anything I do not want to do. Some of it is due to inertia and depression, but those cannot be excuses because I do have a limited ability to affect those qualities.
Anyway, I have been thinking about how to inspire myself to get my saggy and aged ass out an doing more stuff.
Something I read on a blog that I follow made a quote by Albert Camus tickle my memory. I had to Google for it, as it no longer lies complete in my memory. Truth is that book/reading memory eludes me lately. I just library borrowed and nearly completely read a book that I borrowed and read just a few months ago. It was only vaguely familiar until the final few chapters. That is how old I am sometimes.
And, that is the skimpy part of time, having all that I need. The manifestation of the weak link in using what I have in the best way possible. I am not doing that. My sleeping is messed up and I am resisting medications that would force me into a regular schedule. For good reasons, as those meds certainly can work, but can mess you up in other ways.
But, back to Camus. This is the quote that I had to find:
He was only twenty-seven years of age when he wrote that. Crazy. Groovy. I am two and a half times that age and I cannot think of such things on my own.
I am not so concerned about the centuries or civilization as a whole, but hold this more personally. It is about a life where, and at times, it is difficult to parse meaning from the jumble of just plain living. All life is challenge. Even the most calm and serene life is full of decisions one has to make. How I am going to do this, in my life, can determine what my future, both near and long-term is going to be about. Surviving is simply not enough. It should be, but it is not.
I am not introspective enough to pull this together. I become too caught in the thrall of the day, or the problem, or the time and space I am filling with nothing productive. Except, for reading. I am at a pivotal moment. I could take classes, which very much appeals to me, and I am going to attend a few art things. I even want to learn new ways to paint. Maybe slump glass or work with mosaics. And, I am struck by my need to read as much as I can.
A while back, as I was getting my grandsons off to school, I made sure that we cleaned up after the bacchanal that those mornings often are, explaining that mom is a busy person and we need to clean up after ourselves because she is so busy. My oldest grandson shared with me that he understood that I was not a busy as his mom was, and that she had told him that "grandma reads a lot and does not do much else." At that time, many months ago, that was not true. I was settling in here and trying to find things to do, people to meet, stuff like that. It is true now. Mostly. Especially the reading part. There is not enough time to read everything I need and want to know. Well, that is primarily things I want to learn about, mostly science stuff. So, I borrow a half-dozen books each week from the library and read what makes the most sense to me and return the rest with only a cursory flip through.
And, because I care about the person who writes the blog I follow, I am now adding Camus to that list of must-reads. I no longer have the handful of his books that I have read; all my books were left behind in that other life. But, I do have a great library that will find and deliver pretty much anything that I want, so Albert is on the near lineup. Surely time enough in my all the time in the world for that.
I guess that it is true, for the most part, because I will always find the time to do the stuff I love, be with the people I love and work at the stuff I love. I feel that way about volunteering. Oh, sure, I like to help and all that jazz, but volunteering, any kind of doing things for others or for campaigns or whatever it might be is pretty satisfying. Were it not, no one would do any of it. Sure, there will always be truly altruistic and self-sacrificing folk who have the kind of purity of spirit who will always rise to whatever need presents itself. Big-hearted people who genuinely care about other people. That sub-species of human who are genuinely human and humane and truly give a rat's fanny about more than just their own needs.
I am not sure where this is going, but suffice it to say that I am not one of those good people. I do what I do because I love doing it. That does not make me better than anyone, and it does make me more selfish than most because I am really invested in how it makes me feel to reach out and do stuff that is beyond my own needs. Or, is it that? What if my need is the thing that drives me? I guess it does not make any difference. As long as I am not hurting anyone or any whatever, then the reasons are irrelevant.
Time is increasingly on my mind. The snow removal problem here reminds me that my physical resources are limited. Whilst I feel well, healthy and all that, I am woefully out of good physical condition. I am still fat. I still do not engage in any regular exercise. All that. I am more bodily fit than I was before I moved here, to this flat with fourteen steps up to my door. Yes, I count them. It is a habit that developed when I began needing to climb that steep and narrow staircase. Counting helped me to actually make it up, breathless and tired, but I did not have any real choice.
Climb up and down the stairs or live in my car. I have already done that in the past several years, so, no thank you, I do not wish to repeat that experience. It did not kill me to live with those circumstances, but it is much less pleasant than you would think, especially in colder weather. Not so great for my cat, either, but we did not have any choice for that, thankfully, brief period.
I think that most people who make it through challenging times are pleased...albeit often a little surprised...that they were able to do so. There may even be a certain amount of smugness connected with surviving tough times, although I am thinking that most survivors would think of their survival as a point of pride and accomplishment, but the whole smug thing is in there as well. I do not think it can be avoided. You know, being human and all.
Unfortunately, time, actual time, is something over which I have no control. I can decide how I will spend it, or as in my case, waste it, and that is not a gratuitous or sympathy inducing statement. I do waste a significant amount of time. Part of it is that I can do whatever I like, not do anything I do not want to do. Some of it is due to inertia and depression, but those cannot be excuses because I do have a limited ability to affect those qualities.
Anyway, I have been thinking about how to inspire myself to get my saggy and aged ass out an doing more stuff.
Something I read on a blog that I follow made a quote by Albert Camus tickle my memory. I had to Google for it, as it no longer lies complete in my memory. Truth is that book/reading memory eludes me lately. I just library borrowed and nearly completely read a book that I borrowed and read just a few months ago. It was only vaguely familiar until the final few chapters. That is how old I am sometimes.
And, that is the skimpy part of time, having all that I need. The manifestation of the weak link in using what I have in the best way possible. I am not doing that. My sleeping is messed up and I am resisting medications that would force me into a regular schedule. For good reasons, as those meds certainly can work, but can mess you up in other ways.
But, back to Camus. This is the quote that I had to find:
We have not overcome our condition, and yet we know it better. We know that we live in contradiction, but we also know that we must refuse this contradiction and do what is needed to reduce it. Our task as [humans] is to find the few principles that will calm the infinite anguish of free souls. We must mend what has been torn apart, make justice imaginable again in a world so obviously unjust, give happiness a meaning once more to peoples poisoned by the misery of the century. Naturally, it is a superhuman task. But superhuman is the term for tasks [we] take a long time to accomplish, that’s all.
Let us know our aims then, holding fast to the mind, even if force puts on a thoughtful or a comfortable face in order to seduce us. The first thing is not to despair. Let us not listen too much to those who proclaim that the world is at an end. Civilizations do not die so easily, and even if our world were to collapse, it would not have been the first. It is indeed true that we live in tragic times. But too many people confuse tragedy with despair. “Tragedy,” [D.H.] Lawrence said, “ought to be a great kick at misery.” This is a healthy and immediately applicable thought. There are many things today deserving such a kick.This is exactly, or nearly, as I am feeling and thinking right now. I remembered, sketchily, only the first part, but discovered the second when I found the quote.
He was only twenty-seven years of age when he wrote that. Crazy. Groovy. I am two and a half times that age and I cannot think of such things on my own.
I am not so concerned about the centuries or civilization as a whole, but hold this more personally. It is about a life where, and at times, it is difficult to parse meaning from the jumble of just plain living. All life is challenge. Even the most calm and serene life is full of decisions one has to make. How I am going to do this, in my life, can determine what my future, both near and long-term is going to be about. Surviving is simply not enough. It should be, but it is not.
I am not introspective enough to pull this together. I become too caught in the thrall of the day, or the problem, or the time and space I am filling with nothing productive. Except, for reading. I am at a pivotal moment. I could take classes, which very much appeals to me, and I am going to attend a few art things. I even want to learn new ways to paint. Maybe slump glass or work with mosaics. And, I am struck by my need to read as much as I can.
A while back, as I was getting my grandsons off to school, I made sure that we cleaned up after the bacchanal that those mornings often are, explaining that mom is a busy person and we need to clean up after ourselves because she is so busy. My oldest grandson shared with me that he understood that I was not a busy as his mom was, and that she had told him that "grandma reads a lot and does not do much else." At that time, many months ago, that was not true. I was settling in here and trying to find things to do, people to meet, stuff like that. It is true now. Mostly. Especially the reading part. There is not enough time to read everything I need and want to know. Well, that is primarily things I want to learn about, mostly science stuff. So, I borrow a half-dozen books each week from the library and read what makes the most sense to me and return the rest with only a cursory flip through.
And, because I care about the person who writes the blog I follow, I am now adding Camus to that list of must-reads. I no longer have the handful of his books that I have read; all my books were left behind in that other life. But, I do have a great library that will find and deliver pretty much anything that I want, so Albert is on the near lineup. Surely time enough in my all the time in the world for that.
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