Saturday, November 05, 2005
...date night
Yes, Jim is taking me out to dinner, crutch and all (I'm down to one crutch, not sure about shoes yet.) I certainly appreciate a lot more since I've been in this predicament. It was so nice today and it would have been wonderful to take Duncan for a walk through the woods, to see the colors and enjoy the sunshine. As it was, I watched the leaves fall through the window, not quite the same. Anyhow, I think a nice rare steak sounds good! It's only Milan's, but hey...it's out of this house!
Thursday, November 03, 2005
...on the move
Thank goodness the cast is off, but the crutches still remain. That's OK, at least I can bend my knee now and try to put a little weight on it. Jim left me alone today but I have the dining room table full of stuff to do. I think I'll sew all of Duncan's toys, although Jim says I should just pitch them. Duncan knows the basket is on the table and keeps whining for them. I also have a plethora of magazines to go through...if I can't work, I might as well spend money!
Monday, October 31, 2005
...so much for Vegas!
Alright, I will put this vacation in the "worst ever" category!
The plane ride was uneventful; however, disembarking from the plane started the downhill slide. As I began to exit my seat, I felt this ungodly pain at the back of my leg. It literally knocked the breath out of me and forced me back down to the seat. There are 150 people trying to exit and I managed to get out of my seat and hobble down the aisle. It was very difficult to walk, but hey, I’m in Vegas and those machines are calling my name!
I got in a minimal amount of gambling, since I was stuck playing the slots in a small area since I couldn’t walk very well. The pain worsened and the swelling started. Lovely. By the next morning, my knee was badly swollen and Jim (God bless that patient man) talked me into going to the hospital. Vegas has about 20 hospitals and choosing the right one was a nightmare, so I picked St. Rose, a Catholic Hospital. They were wonderful! They didn’t even ask for insurance information until after I was treated and readying for release. Unheard of!
The bottom line was that I tore my calf muscle and emergency treatment included a cast from my toes to upper thigh. My instructions are rest, elevation, ice, and see an orthopedic surgeon as soon as possible when we return home. No bend in the cast at all, the leg just sits straight out. And crutches…gheez, I never realized how difficult it is to walk in crutches. It took them three tries to find the right ones, because of my height. I sort of shuffled out of the hospital and Jim pushed me into the back seat of the car. My pants wouldn’t fit over the cast, so I figured a stop at K-Mart for a skirt might be more practical. They put me in one of those automatic wheelchair things that you drive. Vic stayed with me while Jim filled my Px for painkillers. We didn’t do too badly, I only got caught in one rack of jackets and blouses and I didn’t bowl anyone over. Unfortunately, they only had maternity skirts and I ended up wearing the same black maternity skirt my entire visit. So much for careful mix and match packing! Back to the Casino.
Vic (God bless him too!) ran into the casino and signed his life away to get me a wheel chair. I also have a new respect for anyone in a wheel chair. Maneuvering the chair into the bathrooms is bizarre. Try holding the bathroom door open and wheeling, turning your chair toward the toilet. Gheez. Thank goodness for the ADA that provides wheelchair access. After I finally made it to the bathroom, trying to figure out how to get out of the chair and onto the toilet is a whole other experience. We won’t even go there, the visual description is beyond belief!
Vic or Jim would prop me up at a slot machine and stay within calling distance. They would check on me every few minutes and see if I wanted to move. It took Jim and me a few times to figure out maneuvering the wheel chair and it took me a whole day to figure out how to stand up from it. (Don’t try to use the crutches to stand, just put your hands on the armrests like getting out of regular chair…gheez….talk about an Abbott and Costello scene.) Oh, and don’t forget to use the brakes…the chair moves! It took us awhile to remember to use the brakes. It took Jim a time or two to remember that if he propped my leg up on a chair while we were eating, not to just pull the chair out when it was time to go. If I wasn’t laughing, I was crying!
Our casino had a monorail to another casino. However, it broke down on the return trip and we had to take the shuttle bus. Everyone, about 40 or so people, had to wait until the driver let down the automatic lift to get me into the bus. OK…got that done, but getting off was another story. The lift broke. There are another 40 or so people waiting to get ON the bus now, anxious to get to the other casino. After fiddling with the motor, straps, etc. for about 15 minutes, the only solution was for me to walk off the bus. Crutches, narrow aisle, steep steps, you get the picture. I was literally in tears as I disembarked, not from pain, but from humiliation at having to make everyone wait. I was crying, Jim kept telling me it wasn’t my fault and what the hell, we would never see these people again! What a great guy!
I did manage to learn to play craps when Vic’s friend, Bob, and his wife, Nikki, visited with us. We had a good time at dinner and afterward, Bob got me to a craps table. They accommodated me by getting me one of those tall stools and stuck me in the corner slot. He and I pooled our money and he showed me basic betting strategy. I’m still a little confused on all the different odds, but I would feel confident walking up to one and laying my own bets. I even know what the bet is behind the pass line and when to bet in multiples of six on the numbers six and eight. And, I actually understand, "one for fifteen"! We ended up playing about 90 minutes and actually came out ahead! ‘course, I lost it all on slots, but hey….it’s Vegas.
We finally made it home about 4:00 this morning, safe and sound, sort of. Jim is at Lowe’s now, trying to figure out something to get me into the tub so I can bathe and wash my hair. (I keep telling him this is the "and in sickness" part as well as the "for worse" part. He keeps telling me it’s only temporary and don’t get used to it!) The shower sounds much more appealing, but I’m not sure about all those steps to the basement. I’m thinking maybe he can just put me in a sled, I’ll push off and he can catch me at the bottom…we’ll see! Anyway, that’s our most recent Vegas experience, and the worst part….Elvis didn’t sing to me once!
The plane ride was uneventful; however, disembarking from the plane started the downhill slide. As I began to exit my seat, I felt this ungodly pain at the back of my leg. It literally knocked the breath out of me and forced me back down to the seat. There are 150 people trying to exit and I managed to get out of my seat and hobble down the aisle. It was very difficult to walk, but hey, I’m in Vegas and those machines are calling my name!
I got in a minimal amount of gambling, since I was stuck playing the slots in a small area since I couldn’t walk very well. The pain worsened and the swelling started. Lovely. By the next morning, my knee was badly swollen and Jim (God bless that patient man) talked me into going to the hospital. Vegas has about 20 hospitals and choosing the right one was a nightmare, so I picked St. Rose, a Catholic Hospital. They were wonderful! They didn’t even ask for insurance information until after I was treated and readying for release. Unheard of!
The bottom line was that I tore my calf muscle and emergency treatment included a cast from my toes to upper thigh. My instructions are rest, elevation, ice, and see an orthopedic surgeon as soon as possible when we return home. No bend in the cast at all, the leg just sits straight out. And crutches…gheez, I never realized how difficult it is to walk in crutches. It took them three tries to find the right ones, because of my height. I sort of shuffled out of the hospital and Jim pushed me into the back seat of the car. My pants wouldn’t fit over the cast, so I figured a stop at K-Mart for a skirt might be more practical. They put me in one of those automatic wheelchair things that you drive. Vic stayed with me while Jim filled my Px for painkillers. We didn’t do too badly, I only got caught in one rack of jackets and blouses and I didn’t bowl anyone over. Unfortunately, they only had maternity skirts and I ended up wearing the same black maternity skirt my entire visit. So much for careful mix and match packing! Back to the Casino.
Vic (God bless him too!) ran into the casino and signed his life away to get me a wheel chair. I also have a new respect for anyone in a wheel chair. Maneuvering the chair into the bathrooms is bizarre. Try holding the bathroom door open and wheeling, turning your chair toward the toilet. Gheez. Thank goodness for the ADA that provides wheelchair access. After I finally made it to the bathroom, trying to figure out how to get out of the chair and onto the toilet is a whole other experience. We won’t even go there, the visual description is beyond belief!
Vic or Jim would prop me up at a slot machine and stay within calling distance. They would check on me every few minutes and see if I wanted to move. It took Jim and me a few times to figure out maneuvering the wheel chair and it took me a whole day to figure out how to stand up from it. (Don’t try to use the crutches to stand, just put your hands on the armrests like getting out of regular chair…gheez….talk about an Abbott and Costello scene.) Oh, and don’t forget to use the brakes…the chair moves! It took us awhile to remember to use the brakes. It took Jim a time or two to remember that if he propped my leg up on a chair while we were eating, not to just pull the chair out when it was time to go. If I wasn’t laughing, I was crying!
Our casino had a monorail to another casino. However, it broke down on the return trip and we had to take the shuttle bus. Everyone, about 40 or so people, had to wait until the driver let down the automatic lift to get me into the bus. OK…got that done, but getting off was another story. The lift broke. There are another 40 or so people waiting to get ON the bus now, anxious to get to the other casino. After fiddling with the motor, straps, etc. for about 15 minutes, the only solution was for me to walk off the bus. Crutches, narrow aisle, steep steps, you get the picture. I was literally in tears as I disembarked, not from pain, but from humiliation at having to make everyone wait. I was crying, Jim kept telling me it wasn’t my fault and what the hell, we would never see these people again! What a great guy!
I did manage to learn to play craps when Vic’s friend, Bob, and his wife, Nikki, visited with us. We had a good time at dinner and afterward, Bob got me to a craps table. They accommodated me by getting me one of those tall stools and stuck me in the corner slot. He and I pooled our money and he showed me basic betting strategy. I’m still a little confused on all the different odds, but I would feel confident walking up to one and laying my own bets. I even know what the bet is behind the pass line and when to bet in multiples of six on the numbers six and eight. And, I actually understand, "one for fifteen"! We ended up playing about 90 minutes and actually came out ahead! ‘course, I lost it all on slots, but hey….it’s Vegas.
We finally made it home about 4:00 this morning, safe and sound, sort of. Jim is at Lowe’s now, trying to figure out something to get me into the tub so I can bathe and wash my hair. (I keep telling him this is the "and in sickness" part as well as the "for worse" part. He keeps telling me it’s only temporary and don’t get used to it!) The shower sounds much more appealing, but I’m not sure about all those steps to the basement. I’m thinking maybe he can just put me in a sled, I’ll push off and he can catch me at the bottom…we’ll see! Anyway, that’s our most recent Vegas experience, and the worst part….Elvis didn’t sing to me once!
Thursday, October 27, 2005
...vegas, baby
Well, it is 2:45 and I'm up, showered, dressed and ready to fly. Our plane leaves at 6:25 am and we're in Vegas at 8:20am. Dad's in the shower....ooops, strike that, I just heard him blow his nose (gheez...I hope he didn't do that IN the shower!). We're meeting Grandpa's friends on Saturday and Bob, his friend, is supposed to give me the lowdown on craps this time 'round. Have to run, we're do over at Grandpa's at 3:15 and besides...I think I hear an Elvis machine calling my name!
Monday, October 10, 2005
...lunch on my day off
I had nine packages of Maruchan Ramen noodles left over from when I needed one package for a slaw recipe. Apparently, you just can’t buy one package of these noodle things. OK…I’ll try them. What a strange food product. After following directions, I had a bowl of soup-like substance filled with long curly pseudo-noodles. Well, how do you eat these things? I tried a spoon, no dice. They just kept sliding off. I opted for a fork, wrapping the noodle things around it, like spaghetti. However, invariably, there was always one or two that managed to dangle…about a foot long, I think. I ended up just slurping them up, ala Isabella way, and pondering the texture. I think I’ll crumble up the rest of the eight packages and throw them out for the squirrel. Ramen noodles are now on my "hate like liver" list.
Speaking of slurping, Lisa would be proud of her Dad. He made coffee come out of his nose the other day at breakfast. Ewwwww!
Speaking of slurping, Lisa would be proud of her Dad. He made coffee come out of his nose the other day at breakfast. Ewwwww!
Saturday, October 08, 2005
...ramblings at 4:00 AM
I just found this picture on the net after typing in "stupid pictures". I love it!It is 4:00 AM and I have discovered that I need exactly seven hours of sleep. I crashed at 9:00 PM and awoke at 4:00. Last night, I went to bed at 11:00 PM and arose at exactly 6:00 AM. It was the same thing the night before. What happened to those days of going to bed at 3:00 AM and getting up at 7 AM for work? Apparently, your body’s rhythms are different at various times in your life. Actually, we probably need to listen more attentively to what it is telling us. At 21, before marriage and kids, I could hit the bars until 2 AM, make my way home in a stupor (gheez, was that stupid or what?), get up at 7 AM, work all day, nap for an hour after work and hit the scene again. I could cycle like that all week, sleep in until 2 PM on Saturday and Sunday and start again. I can only do that in Vegas now. Speaking of which, I’ll be there at the end of the month!
I’m in Catholic Chat right now, back and forth writing this. I keep getting IMs from Nigerian people wanting me to put good faith money in an account so that I can rake in millions. Do people actually fall for this? And if the Nigerians are so poor, why are they using computers and Internet access? There is also an in-room discussion on AI and if man creates AI, will God love the Artificial Intelligence. And a person called "afreakofmyown" just asked this question…."anywayz im telling u anywayz! who is encharge of making the rainbow? me and some friends keep saying it either the rainbow fish, rainbow monkeys, leperchauns, purple monkey/cats, or gay people!" Obviously, these people have nothing better to do than I do, at this hour.
There are a lot of Phillipinos on at this hour, speaking Tagalog, as well as Muslims posting in Arabic. I have no idea what they are saying. Probably just as well.
OK....out of here.
Monday, September 05, 2005
...Katrina and us
It’s 2:00 am and I can’t sleep. I think we’ve all been bombarded with just too much info the past few days and I know, I’m in overload. I don’t think we’ll ever get back to "normalcy". Actually, we will, it will just take time. I still can’t fathom an entire city being evacuated. It’s like something out of a science fiction story, a post apocalyptic wake up call.
In the past few days we’ve seen the worse in human beings and we’ve seen the best. Hearing of rapes and sniper fire during this terrible event is certainly numbing. However, you are also hearing stories of shear human will and survival. I prefer those stories and have shed many a tear while watching them. God bless each of the victims of Katrina.
We won’t know the extent of the devastation for months, most likely years. The burden of housing and education on the surrounding states alone is going to be enormous. FEMA and the Feds are going to take a beating in the months to come. The media will try to "blame" someone for this disaster, despite the fact that that no one is at fault. Two terrible catastrophes back to back. How do you even simulate a practice run for that?
If aid could have arrived faster, I don’t think it was because of race and poverty of the people in the affected area, as many are trying to promote. It is government bureaucracy at it’s best. All this "coordination" causes delays. Some delays were surely justified and some not. Obviously, you can’t move trucks into a flooded city; however, you can air drop supplies. It is very true that you can’t expect to evacuate 23,000 from the Superdome in a few hours, but you can target nursing homes and hospitals first. You can’t put the National Guard on every street corner, but CNN and Fox managed to get to those corners. Why is that?
I have feeling that the Salvation Army, Operation Blessing and the Red Cross had their acts together a bit better than Homeland Security. Isn’t that scary? (I do like Mr. Brown of FEMA, he lays it on the line pretty well without all the BS…Mr. Chertoff lacks some credibility as he tries to paint a better picture than what the situation is, in my opinion.)
PS to the man in England who said that America, the most powerful country in the world, fell to its knees because of this disaster...You haven't learned anything about us for the past 229 years, have you?
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
...hoping this works
I'm hoping this works; if it does, I would much rather be there than here. This was my first attempt using a digital camera. I still prefer the purity of a SLR, such as my Pentax, but it will do. Sunrise at the Outer Banks.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
...new shoes
OK, I just spent a whopping $14.99 on a new pair of flats. $4.99 more than I usually spend since I am so hard on shoes and the expensive ones don't last any longer than the cheaper ones. Besides, this pair was from Marshall's, which means they are a name brand (some Italian thing) and are probably good shoes anyway. But...the left shoe squeaks everytime I take a step. What is with this? All day I tried just walking on my left toes, since they don't squeak that way, until someone asked me why I was limping. I looked liked Chester. Do they make WD40 for shoes? Any ideas on how to make squeaky shoes unsqueak?
Thursday, August 11, 2005
...Tom who?
Late for bed as usual, I stayed up and watched an old ’89 flick with Al Pacino called Sea of Love. I love the movie anyway (he is VERY sexy in this movie!), but what held me at the end through all the credits was this incredible version of the title song. The original was by Phil Phillips and the Twilights and I knew right away this guy singing wasn’t your ordinary pretty boy singer. His voice was raspy, older, full of wisdom, the melody hauntingly beautiful, enhanced by the rhythm of slow moves.
Who is this guy, I remember thinking. Finally, at the very end of the credits: End version of Sea of Love by Tom Waits. I can’t believe I’ve never heard of him before, especially since his rendition was so bluesy. A quick search gave me more info. Well, goodness, he’s been around for ages and ages. He and his long-time wife are responsible for his lyrics and he sings them with a gritty understanding of what life is really all about. Of course, I had to sample many MP3s and downloaded some (which are not working now…Help Chad!). Anyway, here’s a sample of one I really liked:
I never saw the mornin' 'til I stayed up all night
I never saw the sunshine 'til you turned out the light
I never saw my hometown until I stayed away too long
I never heard the melody until I needed the song
I never saw the white line 'til I was leavin' you behind
I never knew I needed you until I was caught up in a bind
I never spoke "I love you" 'til I cursed you in vain
I never felt my heart strings until I nearly went insane
I never saw the east coast until I moved to the west
I never saw the moonlight until it shone off of your breast
I never saw your heart until someone tried to steal it, tried to steal it away
I never saw your tears until they rolled down your face
My kind of blues artist! Where have I been for the past thirty years? Doesn’t matter, I got the CD titles now and my next trip to Borders should be quite fruitful. Thanks, Tom.
Who is this guy, I remember thinking. Finally, at the very end of the credits: End version of Sea of Love by Tom Waits. I can’t believe I’ve never heard of him before, especially since his rendition was so bluesy. A quick search gave me more info. Well, goodness, he’s been around for ages and ages. He and his long-time wife are responsible for his lyrics and he sings them with a gritty understanding of what life is really all about. Of course, I had to sample many MP3s and downloaded some (which are not working now…Help Chad!). Anyway, here’s a sample of one I really liked:
I never saw the mornin' 'til I stayed up all night
I never saw the sunshine 'til you turned out the light
I never saw my hometown until I stayed away too long
I never heard the melody until I needed the song
I never saw the white line 'til I was leavin' you behind
I never knew I needed you until I was caught up in a bind
I never spoke "I love you" 'til I cursed you in vain
I never felt my heart strings until I nearly went insane
I never saw the east coast until I moved to the west
I never saw the moonlight until it shone off of your breast
I never saw your heart until someone tried to steal it, tried to steal it away
I never saw your tears until they rolled down your face
My kind of blues artist! Where have I been for the past thirty years? Doesn’t matter, I got the CD titles now and my next trip to Borders should be quite fruitful. Thanks, Tom.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
...on four-year-olds
Lil' Isabella left with her parents a bit ago and not surprisingly, it is very quiet around here. This little gal would chatter away, non-stop, if she didn't wear herself out and have to sleep. I am so thankful God blessed us with this little angel in disguise. (She was making mudpies today...REALLY in disguise.)
We had such a good time with her, despite her wearing us out! Dad and I are really looking forward to next year, when she can come and visit for a month or so (retirement is looming...YEAH!!!). I figure I can hook her up with some playground and library activities and be a runaround Nona. I think she'll will be one of the best parts of retirement!
About an hour after she left, we contemplated calling Lisa and asking if she could bring her back, because the house is just too quiet without her. However, reason settled in and we opted for naps! We loved having you all....LOVE YOU!
We had such a good time with her, despite her wearing us out! Dad and I are really looking forward to next year, when she can come and visit for a month or so (retirement is looming...YEAH!!!). I figure I can hook her up with some playground and library activities and be a runaround Nona. I think she'll will be one of the best parts of retirement!
About an hour after she left, we contemplated calling Lisa and asking if she could bring her back, because the house is just too quiet without her. However, reason settled in and we opted for naps! We loved having you all....LOVE YOU!
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
...Life at the Welfare, Part II
Where was I…..(interrupted by Mickey and Disney!)
Yes, May. May is a bad time for me at work and I’m usually so focused on what I’m doing on the job, that it sometimes carries over into my personal life. Once a year, at least in Ohio, Child Protective Agencies are mandated to report to the Child Fatality Review Board. The Board reviews all child fatalities in the county for the past year. It is a consortium of several agencies including the Health Department, police departments, mental health organizations and of course, Child Protective. The purpose of the Board is to gather data and information so that social agencies can institute preventative measures for families at risk.
This May, I had eighteen names on the list. Eighteen children died under some circumstance or another which warranted a review. Not all children come under review. For example, some children with severe birth defects who die shortly after death are not necessarily reviewed, at least by my agency. My job is to check and see if we have any history on the family and then provide the Board with a comprehensive review of investigative procedures and services which we provided to the family.
Of the eighteen, I had case histories on fifteen children. Just because our agency is involved it does not necessitate blame toward the parents. Some deaths are clearly accidental…a car accident, a drowning, or SIDS. However, there is always that case or two that you just can’t get out of your mind. I go over every piece of evidence, every statement and every incident of abuse/neglect in the file. I then compile my findings in the most objective manner I can muster. Sometimes, after reading the case, it is very difficult to be objective.
This year, there were two child fatalities which really bothered me (not that they all don’t bother me in some way or another). As I read the history on one incident of abuse against a little boy (under two years of age), I remember getting physically nauseous. This little boy was beaten severely, choked, banged against a wall and wrapped in a heavy blanket, thrown (literally) into his crib and left to die. The perpetrator, the mother’s boyfriend, related to the police that the boy was "getting on his nerves". After wrapping him in the blanket and throwing him in his crib, he left the home and had a drink with friends. He not only left the baby in the home alone, he left the little boy’s sibling in the home, too…a four-year-old. He left the home twice during the night, while the child was still alive.
I couldn’t get out of my mind the shear agony this little child was in. Of course, the man beat him more because he was crying from the first beating. He never sought medical assistance for the child or notified the child’s mother. The little boy had broken ribs, broken arms, and severe bruising all over his body. The eventual cause of death was asphyxiation (possibly from the blanket being wrapped around him so tightly.) I keep thinking of this little child, this little boy who caused harm to no one, suffering so needlessly at the hands of the "boyfriend". What his little mind was thinking, I can only surmise. To compound this tragedy, the boyfriend is serving time, yes, but for an unrelated crime, not of the death of this little child. He was never charged.
Unfortunately, some histories are quite extensive and require much reading and note-taking and I didn’t complete all the reports until about mid-June. I’m in the distinct position of viewing bits and pieces of people’s lives. Regrettably, the bits and pieces that I get to see are inconceivable to most people. I am constantly left with…..what if? What if this agency or that agency had stepped in? What if this person just had a job? What if drugs and alcohol were not a factor? What if this Mom just had some support? What if they just graduated school? What if...what if...what if?
What if we just cared about one another?
Yes, May. May is a bad time for me at work and I’m usually so focused on what I’m doing on the job, that it sometimes carries over into my personal life. Once a year, at least in Ohio, Child Protective Agencies are mandated to report to the Child Fatality Review Board. The Board reviews all child fatalities in the county for the past year. It is a consortium of several agencies including the Health Department, police departments, mental health organizations and of course, Child Protective. The purpose of the Board is to gather data and information so that social agencies can institute preventative measures for families at risk.
This May, I had eighteen names on the list. Eighteen children died under some circumstance or another which warranted a review. Not all children come under review. For example, some children with severe birth defects who die shortly after death are not necessarily reviewed, at least by my agency. My job is to check and see if we have any history on the family and then provide the Board with a comprehensive review of investigative procedures and services which we provided to the family.
Of the eighteen, I had case histories on fifteen children. Just because our agency is involved it does not necessitate blame toward the parents. Some deaths are clearly accidental…a car accident, a drowning, or SIDS. However, there is always that case or two that you just can’t get out of your mind. I go over every piece of evidence, every statement and every incident of abuse/neglect in the file. I then compile my findings in the most objective manner I can muster. Sometimes, after reading the case, it is very difficult to be objective.
This year, there were two child fatalities which really bothered me (not that they all don’t bother me in some way or another). As I read the history on one incident of abuse against a little boy (under two years of age), I remember getting physically nauseous. This little boy was beaten severely, choked, banged against a wall and wrapped in a heavy blanket, thrown (literally) into his crib and left to die. The perpetrator, the mother’s boyfriend, related to the police that the boy was "getting on his nerves". After wrapping him in the blanket and throwing him in his crib, he left the home and had a drink with friends. He not only left the baby in the home alone, he left the little boy’s sibling in the home, too…a four-year-old. He left the home twice during the night, while the child was still alive.
I couldn’t get out of my mind the shear agony this little child was in. Of course, the man beat him more because he was crying from the first beating. He never sought medical assistance for the child or notified the child’s mother. The little boy had broken ribs, broken arms, and severe bruising all over his body. The eventual cause of death was asphyxiation (possibly from the blanket being wrapped around him so tightly.) I keep thinking of this little child, this little boy who caused harm to no one, suffering so needlessly at the hands of the "boyfriend". What his little mind was thinking, I can only surmise. To compound this tragedy, the boyfriend is serving time, yes, but for an unrelated crime, not of the death of this little child. He was never charged.
Unfortunately, some histories are quite extensive and require much reading and note-taking and I didn’t complete all the reports until about mid-June. I’m in the distinct position of viewing bits and pieces of people’s lives. Regrettably, the bits and pieces that I get to see are inconceivable to most people. I am constantly left with…..what if? What if this agency or that agency had stepped in? What if this person just had a job? What if drugs and alcohol were not a factor? What if this Mom just had some support? What if they just graduated school? What if...what if...what if?
What if we just cared about one another?
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
...on life at the Welfare Department
It is almost seventeen years since I first walked into my job here at Children Services. I remember standing at the time clock with my friend, Donna, totally clueless about a government agency, let alone Children Services. Donna and I are still here, the only remaining two people in our start group. Donna is a legal secretary now, and I am the Records Supervisor. It occurred to me that my family probably doesn’t really know what I do. (I love my job!) (Except for May.) I haven’t written here in a while because I’ve been so wrapped up at work and when I get home, I just want to vegetate, play Bejeweled and watch the screen in chat. (May is really tough for me.)
While at work, I field questions from customers (we don’t call them clients anymore because it is politically incorrect.…yep, that’s the Welfare Way.) I get calls from people wanting to know if I can look in their files and see who has custody of their children, (You don't know that???) from people who want to know who their worker is, ("some lady was here and took my kids! Who was it? --- Let me get this straight---Someone was at your home, removed your children and you don’t know who it was??????). Some people just want to complain that "you people" need to do your job and ‘why did you take my kids when my neighbor/friend/relative, fill in the blank, beats her kids?’. Then there is always the call from the crack mom who lost her kids about ten years ago and just now realizes it. Try explaining that one! (I love my job.)
One of the best parts of my job is doing the adoption searches. Children can seek their biological parents at age 21. I cannot provide names, only the court can authorize that, but I can give them all the medical and social history in the file. Most are easy….young unwed mom, no financial support, looking out for her child so that he/she may have a more fulfilling life with parents who can provide. However, there are always those severe abuse/neglect cases and it’s really difficult sometimes to relate a history to the adopted person without sounding bias. "Just the facts, Ma’am" as Joe Friday would say. However, no matter how you put it, ie ‘lack of bonding’, ‘poor supervision’, ‘chronic alcohol abuse’, the child still gets the picture that Mom/Dad didn’t care a lick for him, so much so, that the state had to step in and take permanent custody. There was the one time I had to tell an adopted person that her father was extradited to another state on murder/rape charges and is still in prison. (That was a tough one, but I love my job!)
The law is very clear about not sharing identifying information about the parents to the adopted child; however, there is a big gray area when it comes to siblings. Siblings should never be separated anyway. However, as often was the case in the 50s, 60s, and 70s, you were lucky to find an adoptive parent to take one child, let alone several children. Soooooo….when it comes to siblings searching for siblings, I can stay within the law and still help. I once had a call from a man (a captain in the military) who was searching for family history on his parents. When I pulled the file, I noticed he had a sister who requested the same information several years prior. After thinking, getting advice and reading the law, I made a decision to call the sister (without revealing any identifying information) and told her that I had reason to be in her file and wondered if she wanted any contact with a brother. She was ecstatic and couldn’t believe one of her brothers made contact. I sent her the forms to file and did all the paperwork for her and the brother. Making a very complex and long story short, all seven….yes, seven siblings are now in contact with one another. They are scattered all over the country and have managed to meet each other for a big reunion as well as many of their relatives. (I love my job!)
I run a check on every person who wants to be a foster parent, either publicly or privately funded. I send the person the results. Sometimes they don’t understand why that little cocaine problem a couple years back might hold them back.,..or how that little stint in jail for drunk driving might factor in..,.or the fact that their own children were in foster care might be a problem. A recent one tried to gloss over the fact that she was arrested at the airport with 1K of coacaine in her bra. I try, as best as I can, to explain why some of these things might be a problem. If they aren’t happy with the answer, I help them fill out Complaint and Review paperwork. (I love my job.)
And then there is May. May is really trying for me. Continued tomorrow.
While at work, I field questions from customers (we don’t call them clients anymore because it is politically incorrect.…yep, that’s the Welfare Way.) I get calls from people wanting to know if I can look in their files and see who has custody of their children, (You don't know that???) from people who want to know who their worker is, ("some lady was here and took my kids! Who was it? --- Let me get this straight---Someone was at your home, removed your children and you don’t know who it was??????). Some people just want to complain that "you people" need to do your job and ‘why did you take my kids when my neighbor/friend/relative, fill in the blank, beats her kids?’. Then there is always the call from the crack mom who lost her kids about ten years ago and just now realizes it. Try explaining that one! (I love my job.)
One of the best parts of my job is doing the adoption searches. Children can seek their biological parents at age 21. I cannot provide names, only the court can authorize that, but I can give them all the medical and social history in the file. Most are easy….young unwed mom, no financial support, looking out for her child so that he/she may have a more fulfilling life with parents who can provide. However, there are always those severe abuse/neglect cases and it’s really difficult sometimes to relate a history to the adopted person without sounding bias. "Just the facts, Ma’am" as Joe Friday would say. However, no matter how you put it, ie ‘lack of bonding’, ‘poor supervision’, ‘chronic alcohol abuse’, the child still gets the picture that Mom/Dad didn’t care a lick for him, so much so, that the state had to step in and take permanent custody. There was the one time I had to tell an adopted person that her father was extradited to another state on murder/rape charges and is still in prison. (That was a tough one, but I love my job!)
The law is very clear about not sharing identifying information about the parents to the adopted child; however, there is a big gray area when it comes to siblings. Siblings should never be separated anyway. However, as often was the case in the 50s, 60s, and 70s, you were lucky to find an adoptive parent to take one child, let alone several children. Soooooo….when it comes to siblings searching for siblings, I can stay within the law and still help. I once had a call from a man (a captain in the military) who was searching for family history on his parents. When I pulled the file, I noticed he had a sister who requested the same information several years prior. After thinking, getting advice and reading the law, I made a decision to call the sister (without revealing any identifying information) and told her that I had reason to be in her file and wondered if she wanted any contact with a brother. She was ecstatic and couldn’t believe one of her brothers made contact. I sent her the forms to file and did all the paperwork for her and the brother. Making a very complex and long story short, all seven….yes, seven siblings are now in contact with one another. They are scattered all over the country and have managed to meet each other for a big reunion as well as many of their relatives. (I love my job!)
I run a check on every person who wants to be a foster parent, either publicly or privately funded. I send the person the results. Sometimes they don’t understand why that little cocaine problem a couple years back might hold them back.,..or how that little stint in jail for drunk driving might factor in..,.or the fact that their own children were in foster care might be a problem. A recent one tried to gloss over the fact that she was arrested at the airport with 1K of coacaine in her bra. I try, as best as I can, to explain why some of these things might be a problem. If they aren’t happy with the answer, I help them fill out Complaint and Review paperwork. (I love my job.)
And then there is May. May is really trying for me. Continued tomorrow.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
...men, go figure
There are some things you just don’t hear about when it comes to women. You’ve all heard them……"Stupid Criminals", "Kuckleheads in the News", "Weird and Bizarre". I read the AP news every morning (yes, at work, but don’t tell Uncle Sam).
Intermingled with murders, the war, Muslim extremists and politics, they usually have one story of something really stupid, more than not, perpetrated by a man. There was the man who wrote his bank robbery note on the back of his phone bill and handed it to the teller. Obviously, the police had no trouble tracking him down. Now a woman would choose a lovely soft shade of lavender lightly scented paper and write " Would you please be so kind to hand over all your money? Thank you." And remain anonymous.
I’m sure you heard about the gang that was ripping off a chain of stores in New Jersey. They eventually got caught after robbing one store; however, they will be charged with multiple robberies. Why? Apparently, they were taking pictures and videos of themselves while they were committing the crimes. Really! Would a woman stop to take videos of her self in the midst of cleaning out a store? I mean, c’mon….lugging heavy items around with sweat pouring down her face and then taping it?….I think not.
The best, however, is the story of a man (in Boston, I believe) who decided to rob a Taco Bell. Yes, a Taco Bell. What did he hope to get…enchiladas? The police found him running from the fast food restaurant, stark naked, with melted cheese covering his shoulders and head. Good grief! Can you imagine a woman dunking her head in melted cheese? And really, does orange go with any shade of hair color at all??? And what lipstick matches Cheez Whiz? Gotta be a "man-thing", huh?
Intermingled with murders, the war, Muslim extremists and politics, they usually have one story of something really stupid, more than not, perpetrated by a man. There was the man who wrote his bank robbery note on the back of his phone bill and handed it to the teller. Obviously, the police had no trouble tracking him down. Now a woman would choose a lovely soft shade of lavender lightly scented paper and write " Would you please be so kind to hand over all your money? Thank you." And remain anonymous.
I’m sure you heard about the gang that was ripping off a chain of stores in New Jersey. They eventually got caught after robbing one store; however, they will be charged with multiple robberies. Why? Apparently, they were taking pictures and videos of themselves while they were committing the crimes. Really! Would a woman stop to take videos of her self in the midst of cleaning out a store? I mean, c’mon….lugging heavy items around with sweat pouring down her face and then taping it?….I think not.
The best, however, is the story of a man (in Boston, I believe) who decided to rob a Taco Bell. Yes, a Taco Bell. What did he hope to get…enchiladas? The police found him running from the fast food restaurant, stark naked, with melted cheese covering his shoulders and head. Good grief! Can you imagine a woman dunking her head in melted cheese? And really, does orange go with any shade of hair color at all??? And what lipstick matches Cheez Whiz? Gotta be a "man-thing", huh?
Friday, March 18, 2005
...on being Duncan
Duncan is my six-year-old Springer Spaniel. He is your typical ADHD dog, full of spunk and continually on the move. The minute you say "leash" or "walk", he is all over the house searching for the leash. The moment I go to my sock drawer and withdraw a pair of white socks, he knows we are heading out and drives me crazy barking, yipping, running to the door, all the while dragging his red leash.
Two days ago on Wednesday, I brought him in and he could barely make it up the steps. He merely came in, lay down and whimpered occasionally. He stopped drinking water and stopped eating. A dog biscuit has been in the middle of my living room floor for two days, which is unheard of in this house, since he inhales all food sources immediately. For the first time in six years, Wednesday night, he did not jump on my bed to sleep. He did get up once in awhile and walk around, but without purpose and very slowly. Today, Friday, is the first day ever, he did not greet me at the door with tail wagging, stupid grin on his face and the mid-waist jumps.
He was where I left him this morning, lying on his blanket by my bed. It took me a full five minutes to coax him up and to walk around a bit. Even my husband was concerned on how we would even get him in the car since it appeared that his legs/hips/back was bothering him immensely. Jim went downstairs and made a special box so that we could transport him to the vet. The minute this dog was in the back seat, he was out of the box and all over the car. He had a complete personality change, jumping all around, wagging his tail and doing his normal "I’m in the car now I have to act bad" act. By the time we got to the vet, he was excited and more animated than I have seen him in the last 48 hours. Jim and I are just staring at each other in shock and his quick recovery. We even thought about just leaving and canceling the appointment, but decided to see it through, especially since he hasn’t eaten in two days.
While waiting for the doctor, I kept telling Duncan that he should at least have the courtesy and decency to act sick. Gheez…what a Bozo. When Dr. T. came into the room, there was Duncan, all smiles, waiting to see him. As we described his symptoms, which sounded as though Duncan was at death’s door, he was busy sniffing, jumping and running around. I was just mortified at taking up the good doctor’s time.
However, Dr. T. took all of this as a good sign and smiled, and informed us that from his observations, there was a good chance that his diagnosis was not of a neurological nature but more in the trauma area, such as a pulled muscle. The best course of treatment was to give Duncan a shot and then some pills for a few days, to see how things work out. He explained that the adrenaline kick of being in the car and at the office, probably masked the pain Duncan had been experiencing. The adrenaline rush probably wouldn’t mask something more serious. Very good news, considering the night before I was in tears, not knowing what to do for my baby.
Naturally, the first thing Duncan did upon returning home was drink from the toilet and eat his dog biscuit. At least now I’m not looking at that lonely dog bone in the middle of my floor any longer. So, there you have it…. Duncan, "the great imposter but I love all this attention" dog. Much loved, by the way.
Two days ago on Wednesday, I brought him in and he could barely make it up the steps. He merely came in, lay down and whimpered occasionally. He stopped drinking water and stopped eating. A dog biscuit has been in the middle of my living room floor for two days, which is unheard of in this house, since he inhales all food sources immediately. For the first time in six years, Wednesday night, he did not jump on my bed to sleep. He did get up once in awhile and walk around, but without purpose and very slowly. Today, Friday, is the first day ever, he did not greet me at the door with tail wagging, stupid grin on his face and the mid-waist jumps.
He was where I left him this morning, lying on his blanket by my bed. It took me a full five minutes to coax him up and to walk around a bit. Even my husband was concerned on how we would even get him in the car since it appeared that his legs/hips/back was bothering him immensely. Jim went downstairs and made a special box so that we could transport him to the vet. The minute this dog was in the back seat, he was out of the box and all over the car. He had a complete personality change, jumping all around, wagging his tail and doing his normal "I’m in the car now I have to act bad" act. By the time we got to the vet, he was excited and more animated than I have seen him in the last 48 hours. Jim and I are just staring at each other in shock and his quick recovery. We even thought about just leaving and canceling the appointment, but decided to see it through, especially since he hasn’t eaten in two days.
While waiting for the doctor, I kept telling Duncan that he should at least have the courtesy and decency to act sick. Gheez…what a Bozo. When Dr. T. came into the room, there was Duncan, all smiles, waiting to see him. As we described his symptoms, which sounded as though Duncan was at death’s door, he was busy sniffing, jumping and running around. I was just mortified at taking up the good doctor’s time.
However, Dr. T. took all of this as a good sign and smiled, and informed us that from his observations, there was a good chance that his diagnosis was not of a neurological nature but more in the trauma area, such as a pulled muscle. The best course of treatment was to give Duncan a shot and then some pills for a few days, to see how things work out. He explained that the adrenaline kick of being in the car and at the office, probably masked the pain Duncan had been experiencing. The adrenaline rush probably wouldn’t mask something more serious. Very good news, considering the night before I was in tears, not knowing what to do for my baby.
Naturally, the first thing Duncan did upon returning home was drink from the toilet and eat his dog biscuit. At least now I’m not looking at that lonely dog bone in the middle of my floor any longer. So, there you have it…. Duncan, "the great imposter but I love all this attention" dog. Much loved, by the way.
Saturday, March 05, 2005
...monologue on the Monologues
I went to see the Vagina Monologues last night with a couple of girlfriends. One friend, Margene, is very heavy into the theater, often acting as director, stage manager or actress. Our mutual friend, Jodie, a boisterous, extremely earthy actress, was a member of the troupe. Many people do not realize that the Monologues are put on in local areas as benefits to help abused and battered women. Much of the play has any woman, no matter what age, in tears from laughter. What we want to articulate and proclaim, yet only whisper to our girlfriends, is up there, out there, soft and loud, for all to hear.
Many times during the play, the tears were from sadness. A sadness that only a woman can relate with her sisters. I was extremely touched by the monologue from a woman who had been repeatedly raped, tortured and brutalized in Bosnia. Her innocence and love of life cruelly shattered, when her village was attacked. I urge any woman, no matter what age, to see this hysterical, yet poignant, discourse on the vagina (yes, I said it!) I would also strongly urge any man who has loved a woman or plans on loving a woman see it. It just might open his eyes a bit to who we really are.
Many times during the play, the tears were from sadness. A sadness that only a woman can relate with her sisters. I was extremely touched by the monologue from a woman who had been repeatedly raped, tortured and brutalized in Bosnia. Her innocence and love of life cruelly shattered, when her village was attacked. I urge any woman, no matter what age, to see this hysterical, yet poignant, discourse on the vagina (yes, I said it!) I would also strongly urge any man who has loved a woman or plans on loving a woman see it. It just might open his eyes a bit to who we really are.
...beginnings
We are defined by our experiences and our experiences are based on our perceptions. However, perceptions are flawed, limited and based solely on our previous experiences. Therefore, our perceptions are in error, before we even begin the experience.
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