Observations on Life

I'm sick again, I'm assuming mono, but my dr. won't let me get tested because it always shows that I've had an infection.  I don't know when he became all born again about lab tests.  I had a colonoscopy on the heels of a diverticulitis attack and now I'm limping around feeling crappy.  Story of my life.  Discouraging to the max.

But I'm still going to work and last night, I was listening to a conversation a couple of other agents were having.  This guy was telling his friend about his medical symptoms and how he manages his illness.  I only heard a bit of the conversation, but it struck me how call center agents are so much alike in temperament. 
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Seriously, a lot of us are sickly and we love to talk about our symptoms.  We listen to others talk about their symptoms, with interest and concern.  Other ways we're alike:  we're all readers.  You walk into the break room at lunch time and there are a bunch of agents, eating their healthy food lunches (seriously, you wouldn't believe the salads and carefully prepared meals!) with their noses in a book.   Always, always, of course, people are on their cell phones, checking in with kids and spouses and texting busily.  So, we also are great multi-taskers.  I'd bet many of us are ADD. 

I'm always amazed when I meet another agent and we start talking, at the similarities in our personalities.  Very few dummies in our crowd, they get weeded out right away.  If you can't cut it, you don't last.  That being said, I'm always worried I'll walk in and be fired, but you know what I mean.

So, next time you call customer care for your cell phone, know that the person you're speaking with is probably 1. a reader with a very good awareness of the world   2.  sickly in some chronic way, diabetes, chronic fatigue, heart trouble, etc.,  3.  doing 3 things at once, not including TALKING TO YOU!  4.  concerned about others, I forgot to put that.  We're givers, servers, for the most part.   Many of my co-workers volunteer in the community or give back, even when they have very little to give.

Once again, I encourage you to see the people around you, really see them.  If you can make a human connection with that faceless voice when you call in upset and angry or stymied, you're going to get a lot better service.   We're always encouraged to do that with our customers and almost all of us do---of course, it's something I'm a genius at---well, not a genius, gifted from God.   But not too many of us go in to work every day with an apathetic attitude toward our fellow man. 

Just think about it.

Graduation

Brad will be graduating from Marine Corps boot camp tomorrow.  He'll be home ten days, then leave for two months.  By the time they have their one year anniversary, they'll have lived together for 6 months.  It will sure be glad to see him.  I'm so glad he made it :)

Scaring myself

I usually get off work around midnight.   Well, between 10 pm and midnight.  I drive home the back way and am usually the only car on a long dark road.  I turn on talk radio and at that time of the night, they're talking about aliens and satanic stuff and ghosts.  And I drive down the long dark road half scared to death, waiting for something to pop out at me on the road.

The few houses are dark; like I said, no other traffic. 

I can't believe I keep doing this.  It's probably quicker to take the freeway.  And safer. 

Kindergarten

I went to the school yesterday to help in my granddaughters' classrooms.  Rowan is in 3rd grade.  They talked about counting change; piece of cake.  I could handle that.

Then I went to Rhiannon's class.  I was in charge of her center, helping her and other children write numbers.  You know, it's very confusing to know what is the correct way to teach a child to write "2" and "5" not to mention, the teacher instructed me so quickly, I was a bit mystified about the graph the kids were supposed to fill in using dice.  And Rhiannon wasn't having my help on this day.  She kept mixing up 2 and 5 and arguing with me about it.  As I looked around the room, another mother helped in one corner, the teacher was at a different table and at another table, kids had on earphones and were laughing and turning pages of a book quickly as chimes rang out. 

The teacher suddenly got up and turned on music and everybody seemed to know what to do except me.  Rhiannon, age 5, knew where to put her things and exactly what to do.  I was thinking, "what a good teacher to have taught them this routine so quickly."

And I was also thinking "even Kindergarten's too complicated for me."

Fired

I worry about getting fired every day.  Being fired would be one of the worst, most humiliating experiences I can imagine.  Unthinkable, getting fired.  I think it's my generation because a lot of the young people I work with talk about being fired in a rather blithe fashion.

I worried about being fired all last year, too, when I worked at the school.  Looking back, I realize I was the stupidest person there, totally unsuited for a job like that and my worry probably was well founded, although I managed not to be fired, but still....     I'm pretty sure I was on a chopping block and missed that bullet by an inch.

At first, in this job, I worried I'd be fired for being too stupid.  Totally daunting, being surrounded by young people for whom computer work was second nature and who knew so much already about cell phones. 

It's so easy to make mistakes in a job like this, where things change on a daily basis and it's impossible to memorize the information about the cell phone industry, to be technically adept at everything a customer could possibly call in about.

I wish I could say I've made every mistake known to woman, but I'm sure I have millions more to make.  When I do, I am filled with anxiety and it upsets my apple cart for days.  The young people I work with don't worry about it at all.

Kimberly

Yesterday I answered the door to a young black man selling some shampoo product door to door.  He was kind and cheerful as I declined to purchase.  I asked him "You're a member of a traveling sales crew?"  When he answered positively, I commented, "It's a hard life you've chosen."

He nodded, but remarked that he enjoyed the travel and meeting new people.  These traveling sales crews are popping up all over the country and remind me of the gypsies of old.  It is, indeed, a hard life, if you follow the news.  I can't imagine why one would choose to live that way.

My niece, Kimberly, has chosen that life.  When she was 17, she disappeared for a year.  We had her dead and buried, of course, it was just an awful experience.  She was listing in a missing childrens' registry and her poster was up on the Wal-Mart bulletin board.  Not a word from her for a year.  Then she turned 18, and turned up out of the blue, with a boyfriend named Paul---or Mark---or David, last name Evans, or Piccini.  We don't really know.

No one liked her boyfriend and she didn't last very long staying with family.  She said she'd been all over the country selling magazines door to door with the yo-yo boyfriend, who I despised on sight.  She lived with her brothers for a few months, and they were so good with her, so eager to take care of her.  But they threw the boyfriend out (she worked---he didn't) and she went with him.  She became pregnant and they married.  My sister, Dessie, adored that little girl, Sammy (Samantha).  

We couldn't find Kimberly to tell her that Dessie had died.  Her husband had been arrested in Salt Lake City and while out on bail, had absconded, Kimberly and the baby in tow.  She called two weeks after the funeral and Dessie's common-law husband, in a fit of bitterness, lashed out at her "your mother's dead and in the grave!"  Kimberly hung up and we never found out where she was and we haven't heard from her since the end of April 2008. 

I worry so about that baby girl, Samantha, with the beast of a father and an obviously incapable mother.  I worry that something will happen to Kimberly and Sammy will be in foster care, not knowing there's a family out there who loves her so much.  Kimberly's two brothers, my nephews, would take such good care of that child and her mother. 

Kimberly's disappearance haunts me.  So, when I saw that smiling young man, I asked him if he knew anyone named Kimberly with a baby girl, about two years old.  No, he replied, he didn't.  I asked him to wait a minute and quickly ran into my office and grabbed up a picture of myself that I'd run off to send to an old school friend---stupid, but I was in a hurry---and stapled a copy of the Irish blessing that I had on my desk and scribbled a note on the back.  I gave it the salesman and asked him if he ever met her, to give him the picture and the poem and to tell him we missed her.  He was kind and assented and also said he would mention her to everyone he met. 

I know, it stupid to think anything could come of it.  I alternate between wanting to throttle this niece of mine and praying fervently for her return.  I'm mad at God because He's messed up on following through on my instructions once again.   Most of the time, He's good on the follow-through, but once in awhile, I'm left extremely frustrated, screaming out to Him in my mind.  I don't understand what He thinks He's accomplishing by not returning this lost sheep to us.

In the meantime, we pray.  Here's a copy of the Irish blessing, one of my favorites, I had impressively printed cards, but gave them all away, so now I make my own.

Irish Blessing

May the roads rise to meet you,

May the winds

be always at your back

May the sun

shine warm upon your face;

The rains fall

Soft upon your fields,

And until we meet again,

May God hold you in

the hollow of His hand…

Rascal, the dog

We got Rascal in 1996; he was the cutest puppy ever, a little white furball.  We'd stopped in at a pet shop and there he was and Sarah cried the crocodile tears, and we had to buy him.   The very next week the pet shop was raided and they found dead and dying dogs and very sick animals and the pet shop owner went to jail over it.  As we walked out of the pet shop, Sarah carrying her new dog, she said "His name is Rascal."

That was pretty psychic because he was a rascal if ever there was one.  He never comes when called, to this day.  He ran away from me, he chewed up the house, he barks if a car drives down the street.  Well, he used to, now he can't hear worth a darn, which has made our life quieter.  He sure was a good watch dog, though.

For all that, Rascal is a gentle soul.  He's never aggressive with other dogs, he's very mentally healthy that way.  He never bothered the cats and for all his barking, has never hinted at hurting a human.  He's good with kids.  My little granddaughter just loves to put the leash on him and he will gently follow her around, putting up with it.  Once, when she was little and he'd had enough, he put his teeth on her arm.  I saw it.  He didn't bite, he didn't hurt her in any way.  It was a slow, gentle act of discipline.  It was like "My dear, I've had quite enough.  Cease and desist."  She screamed her head off, but her feelings were hurt, not her arm. 

Now, in his old age, he's my buddy.  He follows me everywhere I go and sits with me till I go to the next room.  When I'm really upset and crying----I cry very quietly, which may come as a surprise---he seems to know it and he stays glued to my side. 

He's a lot slower now.  We surprise him often; I've learned to touch him softly on his head when he's sleeping or he jumps all over the place.  We have a Jack Russell puppy and sometimes Rascal has a hard time keeping up.  He'll still "man up" though and they play tug of war and tag all over the house.  Rascal just tires out quicker.  He's on a special old dog diet.

It saddens us a bit, to see this spitfire dog who once ran circles around the kids in the neighborhood (so funny to watch them try to catch him---he can still cut a rug that way if he feels like it).  We coddle him.  We let him lie on the front porch in the sun---the other dogs are never allowed out of the fence.  He's the grandpa we're taking care of in his old age. 

He was always Sarah's dog, although he bonded well with me because he had Parvoe when we got him and I nursed him with total loving care.  His life has been a gift in our lives.  Nothing like a good dog.

                                                                                    

                                                                                     

They were all blissfully nappng.  It didn't look very comfortable to me.