RE: Dealing with Telemarketers...
There's something really important I forgot to mention
for the one that's my All Time Favorite
After you pull that one off, wait at least two to three weeks before using it again. What will happen is your victim will decide this would be a really cool trick to pull on a co-worker, and have them call your number. If they get the same treatment it sets off a train reaction and your phone number is now the hottest game in town. I learned this the hard way. My phone rang non-stop for two days because I made the mistake of playing this one twice in a row.
You will get a couple of calls right after the "Breach in Sector Five" routine, but if you play them differently, your original victim just gets a second whammy--wondering what the hell really happened.
And now for your Tip of the Day:
Let go of the idea that socks have to match and you will gain 27 minutes a week, an additional 13 minutes for every two more people you launder for. Consider it a fashion statement.
I seldom wear matching earrings (I've usually lost one of the pair). If someone asks me why my earrings (or socks) don't match, I tell them "because that's not how I lose them." and when they look confused by the response I ask... "well, if YOUR spouse died, would you want to jump in the grave with them?"
When people announce to me that my earrings (or socks) don't match, my response is a confidential whisper...
"I know. That's why I have to keep them apart."
Friday, October 29, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
On a lighter note...
I've made enough oblique remarks about my history with telemarketers that I've gotten a few requests to elaborate. I'm not proud of my antics, but I didn't call the telemarketers, they called me so I call that fair game.
First I need to distinguish between telemarketers and political surveyors. If it's a political survey, I will spend quite some time because those people are fairly good at making me believe they're paying attention to what I'm saying. I don't experience that very often so I'm all over that. I know that's not the reality, but Disneyland isn't reality either, it just makes you feel good.
I do have a few personal rules when it comes to dealing with telemarketers:
Rule #1. Never be rude to them. No matter what. It's just bad kharma, it will come back to you threefold, and it disrupts the Chi in your home.
Rule #2. Never hang up on a telemarketer for the same reason as Rule #1—no matter how gently you do it, it's still rude. There are other options that are way more fun or you can simply ask them to hold on, lay the phone down, put a pillow over it and come back to it awhile later when it's making that annoying off the hook noise.
Rule #3. No matter what they're selling, never tell them you're blind. All printed material comes in Braille. Even if they're selling windows and siding don't say “it doesn't matter, I'm blind” Trust me, windows and siding come in Braille too.
Keeping those rules in mind, your creative options are UNLIMITED. I consider these tactics to be a public service. The longer I keep the telemarketer on the line, the fewer calls he/she can make during their shift to other victims.
The first and simplest approach is the BC: You recognize that the caller is a telemarketer, and suddenly you have a Bad Connection. Just keep saying “Hello? Hello? Are you there? I can't hear you! Are you there? “ I recommend you continue this loop until they hang up. For reasons I cannot explain, I feel it's important that the telemarketer hangs up before I do. On some level I suspect it is a cosmic joke.
If you want some fun, I recommend GTWG: You've answered the phone and realize there's a telemarketer on the other end. You must Greet Them With Gusto. Nearly bursting with happiness to hear from them you gush:
“Oh my gosh, HOW ARE YOU?!?! How wonderful to hear from You!!! How Long has it been?!?!” You may want to practice this out loud before you try it, because you've GOT to sell it. If you do, they are totally stunned. Seriously, do you think they have EVER gotten such an opening response in their telemarketing career?! Not unless they've called me. Now they have to recover from their brain tilt. Even if they're really good and recover quickly, as soon as they start their schpeel, you interrupt with “HOW'S THE FAMILY? DO YOU STILL HEAR FROM THAT COUSIN OF YOURS....OH WHAT WAS HER NAME, YOU KNOW, THE ONE WITH THE GEORGOUS BLUE EYES AND THE HAIR ON HER UPPER LIP.....GOSH DARN, WHY CAN'T I REMEMBER HER NAME...” I can almost guarantee that they hung up a nano-second after the word LIP.
If I'm in a hurry, I simply say in a theatrical whisper “I'm sorry, but the police are here and they want me to keep this line open.” I hear them hang up quite gingerly.
On some level my next tactic may be evil, but recently it has become very cathartic for me and I rationalize it by claiming I've earned the right. When the telemarketer asks for Rich I respond with,
“I'm sorry, right now he's in the process of dying.”
I get a perverse pleasure from the silence, for being able to respond to the caller in a way I cannot respond to the stupid questions I must field with acquaintances. Human nature being what it is, they fumble to fill that silence. I can FEEL how badly they want to hang up but a shred of human decency prevents them.
I quickly cut them off with.... “Oh no, it's okay. We're ALL dying. For him it's just more of a job than a hobby.”
Admittedly I've only done it three times. The first was not my fault—it was a really bad day and one of the Voices took over for me. The second time the caller was just too damn obnoxious with my attempts to be polite. The third time … I don't know, it was just too damn easy, it was a moment. Maybe I have a form of Turrett's. So okay, maybe I've earned the right to burn in hell. Thank goodness I have a reservation for a good table near the stage.
I promise that the more you screw with these people, the more fun it is. After awhile you become increasingly creative. If they're selling siding, I request an outrageous color—chartreuse and magenta work well, of course I want both, like horizontal intermittent stripes. When they tell me I'll have to paint those colors myself I tell them I'm a double amputee. If I'm dealing with a professional and don't have a good comeback for their Uber Sales Technique, I simply change the subject, like “Do you sell carpeting to match the siding? No? Maybe you should think about expanding into that area.” OR, "how do you think this will look with a thatched roof?" OR "can I stucco over it?"
You get the idea. Basically I just keep talking like Tammy Faye Baker until they want to end the call worse than I do.
Now for my ALL TIME FAVORITE—so good it gives me shivers: I answer the phone, the telemarketer identifies himself and my immediate, urgent response goes like this...
“Oh, my god, how did you GET this number?!” I then hold the phone slightly away from my mouth and shout “Jim, quick! Plug in these coordinates. We have a breach in sector five!” I then return to my caller with... “Okay, I need you to remain calm, we'll have a unit there in just a few minutes. We'll try to make contact with them before they arrive, but don't be alarmed if they enter with guns drawn. Just stay on the line with me we'll get you through this.” I then take a deep breath and begin speaking to them in a voice that suggests they are four years old and have just poopied their pants. “Now, while we're waiting why don't you tell me a little about yourself...what's your favorite color?...”
Usually they hang up in a panic about the time I take my deep breath. A few times I've gotten to know enough about them I could almost feel guilty. Once, the call lasted 18 minutes, he gave me his social security number and I finally got exhausted and ended with the assurance that the onboard computer had determined this was a false alarm and we could all step down, “sorry for the inconvenience.”
Unfortunately, my opportunities have fallen off sharply. Rich is convinced that I'm the main reason telemarketing is becoming computerized. Bummer! Never fear, I'm working on a way to start F@#$ing with the computer calls.
I've been doing this for years and it's just good, clean fun. Since Rich has been homebound, he's starting to get with the program. Previously he just stared at me in awe as I played with telemarketers, shook his head and chuckled. Now Rich's favorite is the people selling supplemental insurance. He allows them to do their entire routine and when they conclude by asking if he has any questions he responds with “Well, yes...I have stage four pancreatic cancer. Will that be a problem?” There is usually a brief pause, then CLICK.
His other favorite is the calls he gets for cruise packages. Again he encourages their entire sales pitch and when they go for the close, Rich has just one question. “So does the ship have facilities so I can continue my chemo and radiation?” As they mumble and stumble Rich tries to rescue them with...”well if I die before the departure date, can I will my passage to someone else?” I'm a bad influence. Rich is way nicer than me. He has to be feeling really pissed to pull this one off and then afterwards he feels guilty.
Not me, baby. YOU called ME. You want to step into My world? Bring it. I do not pay a monthly fee for telecommunications so you can make a commission on sales. I can't stop you from calling and interrupting my sleep, serenity, or pleasant activity, but I sure can claim a measure of satisfaction. Forget the “Do Not Call List”. What a joke. Be BOLD. Reclaim the phone service you pay for and
have fun doing it!!
First I need to distinguish between telemarketers and political surveyors. If it's a political survey, I will spend quite some time because those people are fairly good at making me believe they're paying attention to what I'm saying. I don't experience that very often so I'm all over that. I know that's not the reality, but Disneyland isn't reality either, it just makes you feel good.
I do have a few personal rules when it comes to dealing with telemarketers:
Rule #1. Never be rude to them. No matter what. It's just bad kharma, it will come back to you threefold, and it disrupts the Chi in your home.
Rule #2. Never hang up on a telemarketer for the same reason as Rule #1—no matter how gently you do it, it's still rude. There are other options that are way more fun or you can simply ask them to hold on, lay the phone down, put a pillow over it and come back to it awhile later when it's making that annoying off the hook noise.
Rule #3. No matter what they're selling, never tell them you're blind. All printed material comes in Braille. Even if they're selling windows and siding don't say “it doesn't matter, I'm blind” Trust me, windows and siding come in Braille too.
Keeping those rules in mind, your creative options are UNLIMITED. I consider these tactics to be a public service. The longer I keep the telemarketer on the line, the fewer calls he/she can make during their shift to other victims.
The first and simplest approach is the BC: You recognize that the caller is a telemarketer, and suddenly you have a Bad Connection. Just keep saying “Hello? Hello? Are you there? I can't hear you! Are you there? “ I recommend you continue this loop until they hang up. For reasons I cannot explain, I feel it's important that the telemarketer hangs up before I do. On some level I suspect it is a cosmic joke.
If you want some fun, I recommend GTWG: You've answered the phone and realize there's a telemarketer on the other end. You must Greet Them With Gusto. Nearly bursting with happiness to hear from them you gush:
“Oh my gosh, HOW ARE YOU?!?! How wonderful to hear from You!!! How Long has it been?!?!” You may want to practice this out loud before you try it, because you've GOT to sell it. If you do, they are totally stunned. Seriously, do you think they have EVER gotten such an opening response in their telemarketing career?! Not unless they've called me. Now they have to recover from their brain tilt. Even if they're really good and recover quickly, as soon as they start their schpeel, you interrupt with “HOW'S THE FAMILY? DO YOU STILL HEAR FROM THAT COUSIN OF YOURS....OH WHAT WAS HER NAME, YOU KNOW, THE ONE WITH THE GEORGOUS BLUE EYES AND THE HAIR ON HER UPPER LIP.....GOSH DARN, WHY CAN'T I REMEMBER HER NAME...” I can almost guarantee that they hung up a nano-second after the word LIP.
If I'm in a hurry, I simply say in a theatrical whisper “I'm sorry, but the police are here and they want me to keep this line open.” I hear them hang up quite gingerly.
On some level my next tactic may be evil, but recently it has become very cathartic for me and I rationalize it by claiming I've earned the right. When the telemarketer asks for Rich I respond with,
“I'm sorry, right now he's in the process of dying.”
I get a perverse pleasure from the silence, for being able to respond to the caller in a way I cannot respond to the stupid questions I must field with acquaintances. Human nature being what it is, they fumble to fill that silence. I can FEEL how badly they want to hang up but a shred of human decency prevents them.
I quickly cut them off with.... “Oh no, it's okay. We're ALL dying. For him it's just more of a job than a hobby.”
Admittedly I've only done it three times. The first was not my fault—it was a really bad day and one of the Voices took over for me. The second time the caller was just too damn obnoxious with my attempts to be polite. The third time … I don't know, it was just too damn easy, it was a moment. Maybe I have a form of Turrett's. So okay, maybe I've earned the right to burn in hell. Thank goodness I have a reservation for a good table near the stage.
I promise that the more you screw with these people, the more fun it is. After awhile you become increasingly creative. If they're selling siding, I request an outrageous color—chartreuse and magenta work well, of course I want both, like horizontal intermittent stripes. When they tell me I'll have to paint those colors myself I tell them I'm a double amputee. If I'm dealing with a professional and don't have a good comeback for their Uber Sales Technique, I simply change the subject, like “Do you sell carpeting to match the siding? No? Maybe you should think about expanding into that area.” OR, "how do you think this will look with a thatched roof?" OR "can I stucco over it?"
You get the idea. Basically I just keep talking like Tammy Faye Baker until they want to end the call worse than I do.
Now for my ALL TIME FAVORITE—so good it gives me shivers: I answer the phone, the telemarketer identifies himself and my immediate, urgent response goes like this...
“Oh, my god, how did you GET this number?!” I then hold the phone slightly away from my mouth and shout “Jim, quick! Plug in these coordinates. We have a breach in sector five!” I then return to my caller with... “Okay, I need you to remain calm, we'll have a unit there in just a few minutes. We'll try to make contact with them before they arrive, but don't be alarmed if they enter with guns drawn. Just stay on the line with me we'll get you through this.” I then take a deep breath and begin speaking to them in a voice that suggests they are four years old and have just poopied their pants. “Now, while we're waiting why don't you tell me a little about yourself...what's your favorite color?...”
Usually they hang up in a panic about the time I take my deep breath. A few times I've gotten to know enough about them I could almost feel guilty. Once, the call lasted 18 minutes, he gave me his social security number and I finally got exhausted and ended with the assurance that the onboard computer had determined this was a false alarm and we could all step down, “sorry for the inconvenience.”
Unfortunately, my opportunities have fallen off sharply. Rich is convinced that I'm the main reason telemarketing is becoming computerized. Bummer! Never fear, I'm working on a way to start F@#$ing with the computer calls.
I've been doing this for years and it's just good, clean fun. Since Rich has been homebound, he's starting to get with the program. Previously he just stared at me in awe as I played with telemarketers, shook his head and chuckled. Now Rich's favorite is the people selling supplemental insurance. He allows them to do their entire routine and when they conclude by asking if he has any questions he responds with “Well, yes...I have stage four pancreatic cancer. Will that be a problem?” There is usually a brief pause, then CLICK.
His other favorite is the calls he gets for cruise packages. Again he encourages their entire sales pitch and when they go for the close, Rich has just one question. “So does the ship have facilities so I can continue my chemo and radiation?” As they mumble and stumble Rich tries to rescue them with...”well if I die before the departure date, can I will my passage to someone else?” I'm a bad influence. Rich is way nicer than me. He has to be feeling really pissed to pull this one off and then afterwards he feels guilty.
Not me, baby. YOU called ME. You want to step into My world? Bring it. I do not pay a monthly fee for telecommunications so you can make a commission on sales. I can't stop you from calling and interrupting my sleep, serenity, or pleasant activity, but I sure can claim a measure of satisfaction. Forget the “Do Not Call List”. What a joke. Be BOLD. Reclaim the phone service you pay for and
have fun doing it!!
Faith talking, faith walking
Lately I've been questioning my Faith. Not the source and focus of my faith but the practice of my faith. How strong is my faith really? How deep? It's difficult to measure such a thing since it's not constant, fluctuating day to day, sometimes moment to moment. But on the whole, looking on it over the course of the past 19 months, or the past 50 years, is my Faith as strong as it should be? As strong as I'd like it to be?
Of course my response is an immediate “YES!”. I say that with conviction, and what I feel is far stronger than anything I can express in words. Lately I've been questioning my Faith because I'm not entirely certain that my actions match my words and feelings. I've been moving forward with Rich's cancer on the absolute faith that we have some good years left to us here. Everyday is anchored by the steadfast belief that we will win this battle. I make sure everyone knows how sure I am of this, especially Rich.
Reality is that I'm all talk. (That absolutely sucks to admit.) I have not been moving forward in this battle as an act of faith. I have been swept up into a freight train that carries me full speed down the track helplessly. I do what I do because there's nothing else I can do, and I refuse to let go. That's not faith, that's just stubborn. I've come to the realization that since the day Rich was diagnosed I have prayed like hell, but I have not committed one single act of Faith, and that's the impotent bottom line.
My upbringing was strongly rooted in the Judeo-Christian bible. It was a good foundation. So when I think of faith, I think in biblical proportions—willing to sacrifice your own child, raising the dead, oil that burns for eight days, manna from heaven, mustard seeds moving mountains... that's what I'm talkin' about.
(like I said, it's a long commute and I'm not the only voice in the car.)
My dad liked the saying about what to do if your boat's in troubled waters....”Pray for rescue and row like hell.” That's been my mod us operand i. But that's not an act of faith, that's just common sense laced with desperation.
Jah-zeesus! Get to the point already!
My point is this, if I really have faith would I have gone back to work as ordered and left my invalid husband home alone to fend for himself when he can barely walk and refuses any help but mine? Or, would I have politely declined and stayed where I was needed, having faith that just like the sparrow, my needs would have been seen to? Such a financial miracle is pretty unlikely since I've heard that you have to buy a lottery ticket in order to win, and since I don't, THAT reduces my odds considerably.
I have to keep reminding myself that faith and miracles by definition have nothing to do with the odds.
Okay. Forget the miraculous windfall that keeps our financial boat afloat. Shouldn't I have chosen my husband's health and happiness over maintaining property? Put that simply I'm feeling quite pond-scummish. Wouldn't such a choice be an act of faith that no matter what happened, we would survive it somehow because no matter what we lost materially, we would have each other?
I should have made that act of faith, the giant leap into the unknown without safety or certainty. I should have had the Faith of a mustard seed, I should have believed I am as important as a sparrow. I should have done the right thing because it was the right thing to do, and had the faith that we would survive. Instead I did the safe thing. I'm not sure Safe can co-exist with Acts of Faith.
Lately I'm battling with this new awareness that my faith is just talk, but the voices are a rough crowd. There is one that argues for my efforts to do the best I can, but that's the frustrated lawyer of the group and he'll argue just for the sake of argument.
I haven't done the best I can if there's more I could do if I only had the courage to act on faith. Sometimes it's hard to know what the right thing to do is; harder still to admit it when you do know. I do think Faith is like Love—it's more powerful as a verb than a noun.
I'm beginning to think I will never again be reconciled to my faith until I walk my talk.
Of course my response is an immediate “YES!”. I say that with conviction, and what I feel is far stronger than anything I can express in words. Lately I've been questioning my Faith because I'm not entirely certain that my actions match my words and feelings. I've been moving forward with Rich's cancer on the absolute faith that we have some good years left to us here. Everyday is anchored by the steadfast belief that we will win this battle. I make sure everyone knows how sure I am of this, especially Rich.
Reality is that I'm all talk. (That absolutely sucks to admit.) I have not been moving forward in this battle as an act of faith. I have been swept up into a freight train that carries me full speed down the track helplessly. I do what I do because there's nothing else I can do, and I refuse to let go. That's not faith, that's just stubborn. I've come to the realization that since the day Rich was diagnosed I have prayed like hell, but I have not committed one single act of Faith, and that's the impotent bottom line.
My upbringing was strongly rooted in the Judeo-Christian bible. It was a good foundation. So when I think of faith, I think in biblical proportions—willing to sacrifice your own child, raising the dead, oil that burns for eight days, manna from heaven, mustard seeds moving mountains... that's what I'm talkin' about.
(like I said, it's a long commute and I'm not the only voice in the car.)
My dad liked the saying about what to do if your boat's in troubled waters....”Pray for rescue and row like hell.” That's been my mod us operand i. But that's not an act of faith, that's just common sense laced with desperation.
Jah-zeesus! Get to the point already!
My point is this, if I really have faith would I have gone back to work as ordered and left my invalid husband home alone to fend for himself when he can barely walk and refuses any help but mine? Or, would I have politely declined and stayed where I was needed, having faith that just like the sparrow, my needs would have been seen to? Such a financial miracle is pretty unlikely since I've heard that you have to buy a lottery ticket in order to win, and since I don't, THAT reduces my odds considerably.
I have to keep reminding myself that faith and miracles by definition have nothing to do with the odds.
Okay. Forget the miraculous windfall that keeps our financial boat afloat. Shouldn't I have chosen my husband's health and happiness over maintaining property? Put that simply I'm feeling quite pond-scummish. Wouldn't such a choice be an act of faith that no matter what happened, we would survive it somehow because no matter what we lost materially, we would have each other?
I should have made that act of faith, the giant leap into the unknown without safety or certainty. I should have had the Faith of a mustard seed, I should have believed I am as important as a sparrow. I should have done the right thing because it was the right thing to do, and had the faith that we would survive. Instead I did the safe thing. I'm not sure Safe can co-exist with Acts of Faith.
Lately I'm battling with this new awareness that my faith is just talk, but the voices are a rough crowd. There is one that argues for my efforts to do the best I can, but that's the frustrated lawyer of the group and he'll argue just for the sake of argument.
I haven't done the best I can if there's more I could do if I only had the courage to act on faith. Sometimes it's hard to know what the right thing to do is; harder still to admit it when you do know. I do think Faith is like Love—it's more powerful as a verb than a noun.
I'm beginning to think I will never again be reconciled to my faith until I walk my talk.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
A small request
If you are following this blog and find it in any way meaningful, Please subscribe to it. I promise I won't contact you (I wouldn't know how), bug you, stalk you, or ask for money.
If you find this worth your time, please share it with others and encourage them to subscribe.
If you have a comment or critique, please post it in the comment section at the bottom of the posting. If you feel the need to correct my grammar or spelling, please keep in mind that I'm operating under sleep deprivation and sometimes I let the Voices take over. Normally I'm meticulous about such things, but I'm working in a time crunch lately.
My request is not about my ego--he went on vacation quite some time ago and I'm not looking for his return any time soon.
One of the Voices has this crazy idea that this blog could turn into something of real value. She has been fueled in this dream by outside sources. The rest of us have decided to humor her because she is the cheerleader of the group and this dream distracts her from her pom-poms. We've been advised that a real show of interest could make that happen.
For reasons that I can't explain right now I've had to keep a very low profile with this blog. I'm not trying to be mysterious or hide anything. Hopefully the day will come that I can post a profile.
Many many thanks to all of you who take the time to read this blog. I hope my ravings and musings help people--either to realize they're not alone or grateful they're not me. I think there are lots of people out there who don't like to join groups anymore than I do so this blog has been a way of reaching out to other Loners who may be struggling with Life.
More postings on the way, and I hope they get better.
Thank you ALL !!!
If you find this worth your time, please share it with others and encourage them to subscribe.
If you have a comment or critique, please post it in the comment section at the bottom of the posting. If you feel the need to correct my grammar or spelling, please keep in mind that I'm operating under sleep deprivation and sometimes I let the Voices take over. Normally I'm meticulous about such things, but I'm working in a time crunch lately.
My request is not about my ego--he went on vacation quite some time ago and I'm not looking for his return any time soon.
One of the Voices has this crazy idea that this blog could turn into something of real value. She has been fueled in this dream by outside sources. The rest of us have decided to humor her because she is the cheerleader of the group and this dream distracts her from her pom-poms. We've been advised that a real show of interest could make that happen.
For reasons that I can't explain right now I've had to keep a very low profile with this blog. I'm not trying to be mysterious or hide anything. Hopefully the day will come that I can post a profile.
Many many thanks to all of you who take the time to read this blog. I hope my ravings and musings help people--either to realize they're not alone or grateful they're not me. I think there are lots of people out there who don't like to join groups anymore than I do so this blog has been a way of reaching out to other Loners who may be struggling with Life.
More postings on the way, and I hope they get better.
Thank you ALL !!!
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
I see the Moon, and the Moon sees me
Friday morning around 6 am I was driving to work and the moon was lovely. It was low on the horizon, but still above the trees. It was silvery, irredescent and definitely perfect. It gave me such a feeling of comfort, like a loving mother wrapping her arms around me. I felt lighter, like She was lifting a bit of the weight off my shoulders. Feeling Her shine on me, my constant, persistant hope became more joyful and less sheer determination. I smiled as She smiled on me...
Saturday night I took Rich to the annual Clam Bake that our friends host. For weeks it was touch and go as to whether he would be able to attend. I didn't push, I just waited. Silently. When the time came he wanted to go.
It was a lovely, balmy evening. Rich was struggling, but he was managing. Just as I hoped, he blossomed in the company of people who love and care about him. I was so proud of him I had to walk away to keep from getting weepy. And I wanted to give him space without his caretaker hovering about him. Like always, he laughed and joked and put everyone at ease despite his 70 lb weight loss since last year's clam bake. He managed being outside where everyone was gathered for nearly half an hour, but then he was tired and cold (despite the warm evening) so he went inside.
Christy lit the fireplace for him and tucked a blanket around him (in his three layers of clothes) and he sat there alone for awhile, insisting that I go outside and visit with friends. It was so warm in the family room where he sat that I was miserable after ten minutes. I kept coming back to check on him and bring him food every 15 minutes or so. After my third trip in I saw that he had drawn a crowd. People would come in, comment on how uncomfortably warm it was and then sit down next to him and lose track of time. He has that effect on people. There was a magician that somehow made Rich his cohort as he entertained the people that gathered, came and went. Rich ate tremendous amounts of wonderful food. He laughed and interacted with the people around him. I think he forgot for awhile that he was any different from the year before, or the people around him. For a very special chunk of Time, Rich was Rich again.
The next day he was still holding on to the gift of the night before. Throughout the day he told me again and again...”boy I had fun last night.”
Monday we decided he was ready to attempt to drive—just a short trip, someone with him. It was mid-morning (which means low traffic), I loaded the van full of the recycle containers and we headed up the road to drop the stuff off. Rich started smiling as we pulled out of the garage. He pulled out of the driveway and he was nearly giggling. Before we reached the end of our street he was laughing. Rich had not driven a vehicle since July 14th. All the way to the recycle station he grinned, every now and then a chuckle, punctuated by “this feels so strange”... “wow, I can't believe how this feels”.... “boy does this feel different!” ...”I'm driving again!”
Santa does not need to bring me anything for Christmas.
Today, Rich saw his surgeon. I'm sorry I missed it. I would have liked to be at an office visit that was good news. Dr A was THRILLED with the results of the last surgery to repair the liver abcess. The last CAT scan showed that his efforts were successful, the fatty tissue he used to fill the void has taken hold and is accomplishing the task, shrinking the pocket as intended. None of the remaining tumors in his liver and pancreas have gotten any larger. We're back in the fight.
I went outside this evening to talk to the Moon. (I've talked to her often all my life.) The sky was dark; she hadn't risen yet. Hopefully I'll see her in the morning. I want to tell her how much life has changed since Friday morning when she hugged me and made me smile.
God Bless the Moon, and God bless me.
Saturday night I took Rich to the annual Clam Bake that our friends host. For weeks it was touch and go as to whether he would be able to attend. I didn't push, I just waited. Silently. When the time came he wanted to go.
It was a lovely, balmy evening. Rich was struggling, but he was managing. Just as I hoped, he blossomed in the company of people who love and care about him. I was so proud of him I had to walk away to keep from getting weepy. And I wanted to give him space without his caretaker hovering about him. Like always, he laughed and joked and put everyone at ease despite his 70 lb weight loss since last year's clam bake. He managed being outside where everyone was gathered for nearly half an hour, but then he was tired and cold (despite the warm evening) so he went inside.
Christy lit the fireplace for him and tucked a blanket around him (in his three layers of clothes) and he sat there alone for awhile, insisting that I go outside and visit with friends. It was so warm in the family room where he sat that I was miserable after ten minutes. I kept coming back to check on him and bring him food every 15 minutes or so. After my third trip in I saw that he had drawn a crowd. People would come in, comment on how uncomfortably warm it was and then sit down next to him and lose track of time. He has that effect on people. There was a magician that somehow made Rich his cohort as he entertained the people that gathered, came and went. Rich ate tremendous amounts of wonderful food. He laughed and interacted with the people around him. I think he forgot for awhile that he was any different from the year before, or the people around him. For a very special chunk of Time, Rich was Rich again.
The next day he was still holding on to the gift of the night before. Throughout the day he told me again and again...”boy I had fun last night.”
Monday we decided he was ready to attempt to drive—just a short trip, someone with him. It was mid-morning (which means low traffic), I loaded the van full of the recycle containers and we headed up the road to drop the stuff off. Rich started smiling as we pulled out of the garage. He pulled out of the driveway and he was nearly giggling. Before we reached the end of our street he was laughing. Rich had not driven a vehicle since July 14th. All the way to the recycle station he grinned, every now and then a chuckle, punctuated by “this feels so strange”... “wow, I can't believe how this feels”.... “boy does this feel different!” ...”I'm driving again!”
Santa does not need to bring me anything for Christmas.
Today, Rich saw his surgeon. I'm sorry I missed it. I would have liked to be at an office visit that was good news. Dr A was THRILLED with the results of the last surgery to repair the liver abcess. The last CAT scan showed that his efforts were successful, the fatty tissue he used to fill the void has taken hold and is accomplishing the task, shrinking the pocket as intended. None of the remaining tumors in his liver and pancreas have gotten any larger. We're back in the fight.
I went outside this evening to talk to the Moon. (I've talked to her often all my life.) The sky was dark; she hadn't risen yet. Hopefully I'll see her in the morning. I want to tell her how much life has changed since Friday morning when she hugged me and made me smile.
God Bless the Moon, and God bless me.
helpful hints
Going back to work has really cut into my blog time. I got more sleep when I was on FMLA. If Rich was up through the night, I could at least grab an hour of sleep with him during the day. No more. Still not getting much sleep at night but I still have to get up at 5 am, and I don't get to hit the rack again until 8 pm.
I have learned some helpful tips, though.
You need a haircut that requires nothing more than a towel to style. If you don't apply make-up you have an extra ten minutes for chores in the morning. If you forget to feed the cats, there is less litter box clean up. Do not open any mail that is not a bill and deposit it directly into the recycle bin.
Leaves on the ground are MULCH. Leaves that get tracked into the house are a decorating statement. (Casually mention that you saw it in a past issue of “Martha Stewart LIVING”.) Burned out lightbulbs mean you're being more Green. If you don't disturb the dust, it's less noticable.
Clothes do not have to be washed after worn, only after soiled. A basket of folded clothes on the bedroom floor is just as clean as clothes in the drawers or closet. Wrinkled clothes and mismatched socks are a fashion statement. Be BOLD!!
The weeds that have taken over this year, will go to sleep for winter, and next spring is another chance to take back the garden. If there's not time to fill the empty bird feeders today, the birds will come back when you get to it (though the cats will stare out the window with sadness until you do)
You can save time and gasoline if you grocery shop once a week—food cravings are just another disappointment you can learn to live with. Coupons are a waste of time unless the item is FREE. You CAN convince yourself that a bowl of cereal is haute cuisine—and if it's oatmeal, you're on a freakin' health kick!
I've learned that no matter how much I do, there will still be more that needs done. I've learned that taking care of Rich is more important to me than how my house looks, and I never thought I'd be able to live in a house that looks the way mine does now. Rich doesn't care how the house looks but he loves it when I'm completely and totally with him.
The voices and I come up with some kick-ass stuff for the blog during our commute, but I can't drive and type and the voices are disembodied, so I'm struggling to find time to get it into postable form. I understand that there's only fourteen of you interested in this journey, but I assure that I want to deliver. Okay, I'll admit it—this blog is the thin thread between my innate quirkiness and a total melt down. Someone recently told me I am a cross between Abby on “NCIS” and the female lead on “BONES”.
I don't know what that means, but it sounds a little hinky.
I have learned some helpful tips, though.
You need a haircut that requires nothing more than a towel to style. If you don't apply make-up you have an extra ten minutes for chores in the morning. If you forget to feed the cats, there is less litter box clean up. Do not open any mail that is not a bill and deposit it directly into the recycle bin.
Leaves on the ground are MULCH. Leaves that get tracked into the house are a decorating statement. (Casually mention that you saw it in a past issue of “Martha Stewart LIVING”.) Burned out lightbulbs mean you're being more Green. If you don't disturb the dust, it's less noticable.
Clothes do not have to be washed after worn, only after soiled. A basket of folded clothes on the bedroom floor is just as clean as clothes in the drawers or closet. Wrinkled clothes and mismatched socks are a fashion statement. Be BOLD!!
The weeds that have taken over this year, will go to sleep for winter, and next spring is another chance to take back the garden. If there's not time to fill the empty bird feeders today, the birds will come back when you get to it (though the cats will stare out the window with sadness until you do)
You can save time and gasoline if you grocery shop once a week—food cravings are just another disappointment you can learn to live with. Coupons are a waste of time unless the item is FREE. You CAN convince yourself that a bowl of cereal is haute cuisine—and if it's oatmeal, you're on a freakin' health kick!
I've learned that no matter how much I do, there will still be more that needs done. I've learned that taking care of Rich is more important to me than how my house looks, and I never thought I'd be able to live in a house that looks the way mine does now. Rich doesn't care how the house looks but he loves it when I'm completely and totally with him.
The voices and I come up with some kick-ass stuff for the blog during our commute, but I can't drive and type and the voices are disembodied, so I'm struggling to find time to get it into postable form. I understand that there's only fourteen of you interested in this journey, but I assure that I want to deliver. Okay, I'll admit it—this blog is the thin thread between my innate quirkiness and a total melt down. Someone recently told me I am a cross between Abby on “NCIS” and the female lead on “BONES”.
I don't know what that means, but it sounds a little hinky.
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