The American Caste System

OBSERVATION: All human beings need someone they feel superior to.

CASE IN POINT: We are having our home painted and I am finding the hierarchy among the painters so intriguing. What we have here is a microcosm of American society today.

We, the home owners, are middle class, college educated, white, mid-western Americans. The owners of the painting company are African American. The manager of the site and his wife are white, but, if I am being politically correct, I would say they are white Americans, short on education, who are undoubtedly low income. I make this observation through appearance, conversation and a lack of good dental health. If I were not being politically correct and were a very offensive person, they would be labeled "white trash". And, the two other two painters are "The Mexicans"- kind, laughing men with little command of the English language. And, thus falls the hiearchy.

Geez... we are all such elitists in our own way. Craig and I have even struggled as to how to refer to the Latino men. They are in fact, Mexican by birth- but being referred to as Mexican in America has become almost a vulgarity. The site managers refer to them as "The Mexicans", they say this in an insulting, looked-down-upon way. They do not allow "The Mexicans" to use our bathroom. We graciously don't expect the paint crew to drive to a convenience store for this human function. They have been outside our house, daily, for a week. Seriously, use our bathroom.

At times the situation seems laughable, but mostly it's really, really sad. Sad, that we as God's children, despise each other so much. I used to find it crazy that my mom grew up in a country (India) with a caste system. A system so stringent that whole groups of people had no hope of rising out of their caste and those on the lower end could only hope for jobs of servitude. I'd like to think we, as Americans, are different, but, of course, we're not.

I know, I know.. this is the way of the world from the beginning of time. Always there will be those on the top and those on the bottom of the social rung. I also know that there is no one among us who does not have their own prejudices. You can be very open to different ethnicities, income levels, nationalities but really look down upon people who are ignorant and uneducated. You can strive for political correctness, but not want to have anything to do with someone who doesn't share your religious or political beliefs. And so on and so on... our prejudices are endless.

In my heart I believe we are all God's children, but in reality, I understand that we humans don't have the capacity to honor this and probably never will. In the meantime, I sit and observe and find humor in the situation at hand and in our primal need for superiority.

VSL

I Think I Am Losing My Mind

Upon hearing that my husband will be working weekdays in another state, a friend told me "Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong while he's gone." Well, it happened today.

I was running late for work, racing around gathering my things when I realized my keys weren't in my purse. My keys are always in my purse. My entire adult life I put my keys in one designated spot. For years I haven't purchased a purse that doesn't have an open outside pocket for depositing my keys.

I didn't panic at first. I knew I'd only left the house once on Sunday to go to the grocery store. Driving home, I noticed my floor mats had a lot of dried leaves on them, so I decided when I got home I'd shake them out before hauling groceries in. I know... how very anal of me, but that's how I roll.

So, I thought, "I bet I left them in the ignition." I don't think I've ever done that but I could see how that might have happened since I altered my usual course to shake the floor mats. Once I discovered they weren't in the ignition I considered the possibility that, keys in hand, I might have dropped them while shaking out the floor mats.

My next step was to look outside in the flower bed where I shook out the floor mats. To make a crummy start to my day even crummier, it was raining. I stepped out in the light rain and searched the flower bed. No keys.

At that point I did the next logical thing- empty out the purse. I didn't count, but I believe I may have searched my purse at least 10 times this morning. Why do we do that? You know the keys are not in there but still check again and again. At this point I was getting nervous. How this might play out started playing in my head. I have no keys, therefore I can't drive to work. The only spare we have is on my husband's key chain and he is in the air heading for his work week in Dallas. Crap!

Recalling I'd been to the store and once again forgotten to use my reusable bags, I considered that the key might have been thrown away with the grocery bags. Okay, I admit, I already have too many plastic bags, so yesterday I put mine in the trash. It made sense that I might have carried the keys in with me and set them on the counter, then set the grocery bags on top. I might have scooped them up with the empty bags and tossed them as well. I did remember that I carefully felt the bags to make sure nothing small was left in them before depositing them in the trash. Despite this recollection, I went through the entire smelly, slimy, disgusting mess. I carried the trash can out to the garage and emptied it out into the garage trash can one stinking thing at a time. By the time I was convinced the keys weren't in there, my hands had coffee grinds and bacon grease on them.

Okay, now what? I could call a co-worker to come get me but that wouldn't solve anything for the rest of the week. I NEED TO FIND MY KEYS! The search was on. I looked everywhere, three, four, five times. I called Craig. He'd just landed. He checked to make sure he hadn't accidentally taken them- nope. I told him everything I'd done after the grocery store and we decided that maybe I'd put them on his truck cover and then headed outside to shake the floor mats.

The problem with this scenario was that he'd run several errands after I'd been to the store, so the keys could be anywhere. I decided to take the dog and walk our street and then on out to the main road where Craig would have turned and sped up. That was the likely spot they would have fallen off. Craig stays on the phone with me. I head out in the heavy drizzle, in my work clothes and follow his cars path- no keys.

At this point I need help. I call my daughter Ali because she lives close by and because she has some flexibility with her job. I lucked out, she was going to work late today and said she'd shower and be over. Ali retraces all my steps, searches my purse, the house, my car and the flower bed.

We then decide to drive Craig's path the previous day, searching for the keys that might have fallen off. In the meantime, Craig is in a strange city looking for a post office to overnight me the spare key. Of course, the fact that it was Columbus day and the post office was closed didn't occur to us. Who the hell gets Columbus day off? Next stop for him was fed-ex. They wouldn't open until noon. Weird...

I call Toyota to ask the cost of replacing a key and a remote- almost $300. I NEED TO FIND MY DAMN KEYS!!! In the middle of the street search, Ali and I pass a new shop we've been meaning to visit. After nearly 3 hours of key hunting, we thought it was only right that we check it out. It was worth it. No, we didn't buy anything but we sure wanted to. It was a nice break.

One last search of our street and Ali took me home. I give up. The spare will arrive tomorrow morning. I'll go in late, figure out how much paid time off I need to take and spend the rest of the day playing catch up. Fortunately it isn't a particularly busy work week for me. If it was, I probably would have gone crazy.

At this point I decide I'm done searching for awhile. I need to log onto my work account and see if there is anything I need to handle. I think I spent maybe 10 minutes working, when I swear I heard a voice in my head that said, "Check the garage trash." So I did. I dug beneath the trash I'd already deposited in there one piece at a time and laying under all of it were my keys.

Lordy! What a wonderful start to my week. This is why we need our spouses home.

And, no, I didn't head to the office. My brain just couldn't have handled it.

VSL

What's It Like To Be A Preacher?

Yesterday I was sitting at a memorial service for one of my parent's closest friends. My dad did the eulogy. Nothing unusual about that considering my dad wasn't just a dear friend, but also a retired pastor. I grew up a preacher's daughter and watched my dad in the pulpit every Sunday. I saw him perform weddings. I saw him perform funerals. He took late night phone calls, counseled behind closed doors and spent hours away from home, caring for his parishioners.



Despite this awareness, as I listened to his eulogy, it struck me that my dad's career choice (and that of all clergy) is really very awe inspiring. Interestingly, my family is full of protestant ministers (on both sides), but it hadn't ever really occurred to me how deeply this career choice must affect their lives and the persons they become.

Sitting there, I thought, "What is it like to be that person?" The person who sits by your dying husband's bedside and leads you through the next few days, culminating in a funeral service. What's it like to work with a young couple who plan to marry and to be an integral part of such a joyful day. What's it like to go from hospital room to hospital room, tending to the sick. To be called upon when a family is in crisis, when a child has gone astray. To visit a new mother. To be counted on for consultation, spiritual advice, healing, words of wisdom. What's it like to hold the hand of a perfect stranger in their darkest hour?

I thought about the role clergy play in this world- such a sacred role, such an honorable role. One that holds such an extreme level of responsibility and accountability. These are the people we turn to in our most vulnerable moments. Truly, they see it all. We trust they will be there when we call. We trust them to keep our confidence. We trust they will guide us when we are lost. We trust they will listen to our deepest secrets and help us find answers. Our trust in them is total.

My dad grew up the son of a United Methodist pastor, so he knew what was in store for him. Though I doubt as young seminary student he could really grasp the full extent of what would be expected of him. How could he really comprehend the important role he'd play in so many lives? And how heavily people would count on him.

The career paths most of us choose really kind of pale in comparison. Maybe doctors get close, but even they aren't relied upon for the many and varied life circumstances that are called upon by our spiritual leaders.


Sitting in the quiet of the church while my dad spoke of his dear friend's life, I thought "Wow!" what an amazing honor it is to be this man's daughter and how thankful we should all be for those men and women who step into our lives when we need them most.

Kind of takes my breath away...


VSL

Living Long Means Growing Old

My lovely friend, Helen Rorabaugh used to tell me, "Honey, It's hell growing old." She lived to be 94, outliving her son and her husband by many, many years. In the end, she was well cared for in a top-notch assisted living facility. A nephew and her many friends made sure she had what she wanted. Problem was, all she really wanted to do was die and be with her family. It's not that Helen whined or grew apathetic or anything. Living just wasn't much fun anymore.

Now that I am in my 50's, to some extent, almost everyone my age is dealing with aging parents and relatives. It's rough. It hurts. And... it makes you realize those days are not that far off. Twenty or 30 years from now, my children will be doing the same and I will be the one facing all the horrors of growing old.

Best case scenario is you live a mostly healthy, active life and when you are quite through with this world, you go to bed one night and die peacefully in your sleep. But that's the exception. For most of us, there will be mental and/or physical deterioration that makes the smallest tasks difficult and sucks the joy out of your life. I hate this reality!

Two weeks ago, we moved my in-laws into an assisted living facility. As they go, it's a nice one. The staff seems caring, the food is decent, the environment is warm and inviting- no bad smells as you go down the halls. Despite this, my in-laws now share a small room, consisting of a sitting area, a large TV and a bed. There is a sink, a microwave and a cupboard. Off this room is a large bathroom and a large, walk-in closet. The room is light and airy, with a window that looks at a landscaped courtyard. Days don't need to be spent in the room, there are gathering rooms, a nice dining area, a covered front porch and the courtyard. There is also a spa and hair salon. Much improved over care facilities of the past.

Moving them, was not an easy decision. We'd contemplated it for months and were warned by my father-in-law that it would "kill them." In the end, there wasn't much choice and a room became available. The move itself was fraught with tears. My mother-in-law mourned the loss of her kitty and my father-in-law was just plain angry- not at us, at the situation. I don't blame them. It does feel like the beginning of the end.

Now they share a small space just blocks from the home they raised their three boys in. They are both mobile so days might find them making the trip home, moving among the rooms they hold so dear. Soon the house will be sold and even that connection to their past will be severed.

In times past, parents were moved into your home and cared for, usually by the woman of the house. I'm sure it wasn't easy, but there were few other options. Even if there were, it was the family's duty to care for mom and dad. And while some still choose to care for their elderly loved ones, more often it isn't even an option. Two income homes and families waiting to have children until later in life preclude this.

Recently, I was attending a luncheon with a group of women I went to college with. While the faces were familiar, I can see that we are in fact aging (well, of course we are). Discussing our lives, one woman said , "We're not even technically middle-aged anymore." She's right, that is, unless we live to be over 100. I don't want to grow old. I don't want to move into a tiny room with my husband. I don't want to suffer from mental deficiency and physical ailments, but unless I am one of the rare few that goes quietly in their sleep, I will.

That's life- living long means growing old and I do want to live long.

VSL

I've Been Reading

I've been told that in order to keep loyal readers checking out your latest post, you must write regularly- at least weekly. While I kept that pace up during my period of unemployment; and for a short period thereafter, I have had limited desire to so in recent months.

I believe there are periods in life when simply taking care of the necessities are about as much as you can manage. I have a compulsive need for order, so maintaining my home, my work life and my self are never options for laziness. Creative pursuits, household projects, entertaining, inventive activities are all things that take a back seat. These past months life have been somewhat uncertain and my solution has been escape.

In my new place of employment I am fortunate to work a four-day work week, leaving me with three full days to accomplish household tasks and to do as I please. With children grown and (thank God) a completely self-sufficient spouse, I've been spending my spare time buried in a book and the occasional movie.

Books are for me the greatest stress reducer of all. No matter what has caused you grief or stress during the course of a day, I can rely on the written page to take me to another world. In a lesser way, a good movie can do the same. And, while, there have been flashes of disgust for not accomplishing much beyond the necessary, I do believe there are seasons for accomplishment and seasons for maintenance. I am maintaining.

The problem with those of us who are hard-wired towards accomplishment, is that these periods of lassitude always bring about a nagging voice in your head saying, "Do something- paint the bathroom, invite some friends over, plan a trip, cook a new dish, get your body in shape, etc. etc. etc..." When that happens, I race to the library for 10 more books and burrow even deeper.

So, while most days I find myself spending much of my spare time feet up, buried in a book, I contemplate that burst of energy that is sure to come. History tells me so.

Until then, I read... and read and read and read.

VSL

Humanitarism not Socialism

I am angry. Yesterday lawmakers finally passed Health Care Reform and today there is rioting, outrage, a lawsuit by my own state, bigotry and denial.

I don't understand. We are considered a Christian nation. The most fundamental teachings of Jesus implores us to help each other. To help the underserved, the poor, those living on the fringe. Yet it's not only the very needy who are hurt by our current health care system. Working folks suffer too. Those who work in fields that don't provide insurance coverage- waiters, gardeners, small business owners, craftsman, to name a few. People doing necessary work, in fields they love.

There are the young, recent graduates who have been removed from their parent's insurance and, in this economy, can't find jobs. There are those who reached their life cap and those with pre-existing conditions who can't get the care they need when dropped by their insurance providers. There are folks who are underinsured, unable to pay the high premiums of a better plan. So many of us, just praying we don't get sick. This list goes on and on and on.

I AM EMBARRASSED TO LIVE IN A NATION THAT HAS LOOKED THE OTHER WAY DAY AFTER DAY, YEAR AFTER YEAR. I am thankful some of the pain will be alleviated by this bill. This is called humanitarianism not socialism.

To the protesters I say- DON'T YOU KNOW ANYONE WHO IS SUFFERING DUE TO EXTRAORDINARY MEDICAL BILLS OR LACK OF INSURANCE. DON'T YOU KNOW ANYONE WHO HAS LIVED WITHOUT QUALITY OF LIFE BECAUSE THEY COULDN'T AFFORD MEDICATION. Really? Don't You?

Today, in an ordinary day at work, I visited a Health Center that provides basic reproductive and sexual health services for women and men. While waiting for the employee with whom I needed to meet, I overheard her speaking to a patient. This young women had come in for a routine annual gynecological check up. In the course of this exam, it was discovered she needs some additional tests that this clinic doesn't provide. Tears welled in her eyes when asked if she had a primary care physician. "Yes", she answered. "But I can't afford him." "I don't have insurance." She was directed to a free clinic. A clinic that will likely not offer what she needs in the way of treatment. How does it feel to be that woman? To need help and not be able to get it... in the wealthiest country in the world.

I am angry but I am also just flat bewildered. How can this be? It's incomprehensible. It's unethical. It's morally corrupt. I don't understand why any American would be against health care reform.

Though I don't believe the current bill went far enough, this is what the bill will do for you:

10 THINGS EVERY AMERICAN SHOULD KNOW ABOUT HEALTH CARE REFORM
1. Once reform is fully implemented, over 95% of Americans will have health insurance coverage, including 32 million who are currently uninsured.2
2. Health insurance companies will no longer be allowed to deny people coverage because of preexisting conditions—or to drop coverage when people become sick.3
3. Just like members of Congress, individuals and small businesses who can't afford to purchase insurance on their own will be able to pool together and choose from a variety of competing plans with lower premiums.4
4. Reform will cut the federal budget deficit by $138 billion over the next ten years, and a whopping $1.2 trillion in the following ten years.5
5. Health care will be more affordable for families and small businesses thanks to new tax credits, subsidies, and other assistance—paid for largely by taxing insurance companies, drug companies, and the very wealthiest Americans.6
6. Seniors on Medicare will pay less for their prescription drugs because the legislation closes the "donut hole" gap in existing coverage.7
7. By reducing health care costs for employers, reform will create or save more than 2.5 million jobs over the next decade.8
8. Medicaid will be expanded to offer health insurance coverage to an additional 16 million low-income people.9
9. Instead of losing coverage after they leave home or graduate from college, young adults will be able to remain on their families' insurance plans until age 26.10
10. Community health centers would receive an additional $11 billion, doubling the number of patients who can be treated regardless of their insurance or ability to pay.11

How In God's name is this not a good thing? If you agree, speak up and thank the legislators in your district for voting to improve the lives of Americans.

If you don't agree and have insurance coverage- you might consider why you feel so entitled when others suffer so greatly. And... if you are a Christian, you might ask for forgiveness.

VSL

I Wish I Were More Like My Mother-In-Law

I've been thinking lately about attitudes. There are those of us who are "glass full" kinds of folks and those of us who are the half empty variety. Depending on which category you fall in, life can be easier or more burdensome. I think how we perceive life, how we manage life and how we adjust to life is measured by our most basic attitude, which, for the most part, we arrive with from birth.

This doesn't mean life can't assert itself and change our attitude, or the essence of who are, at least temporarily, but the trueness of our being always comes shining through in the end. You can be a half empty type and still have a lot of happiness in your life. However, I do believe those who are lucky enough to be born with a sunny disposition, those who have hope, no matter what is thrown their way, those people are happier in the end.

My mother-in-law is one of those hopeful, sunny people who, despite battling Alzheimer's, has a sweet, sweet nature that shines through her fog of delusion. This was most recently brought to mind after a phone conversation.

Marge calls fairly often. She has not lost her memory of family, though she does occasionally need to be reminded of relationships. Marge's phone calls are her link to those she loves most. They break up her day and provide her joy and for that I am thankful, because, as awful as it sounds, sometimes we sigh when the phone rings and our Caller ID lets us know who is on the other end. The reason for this exhalation of air is that these conversations are invariably the same- over and over and over. But they always end with "Love You." To which I reply in kind- and I do.

Despite the repetitiveness, lately, I find myself grateful. I'm grateful she can pick up the phone and call and grateful that she remembers me. And... I'm struck by the sweetness of these calls. Throughout the entire conversation what comes through is a women who is happy in her life situation, who LOVES her family and still feels such a connectedness to all of us. My last phone conversation felt like an epiphany as she relayed again how much she loves her sons, her grandchildren and her daughters-in-law. I chuckled as she shared again how much she loves her cat and how much she enjoys the pleasures of retirement (common, common themes).

As we ended the call, I thought, "Seriously?" Where does this woman's life attitude come from? She's in her senior years, mostly housebound, confused much of the time and happiness just radiates from her.

It got me thinking- I don't ever remember seeing my mother-in-law angry. Now how can that be? Everyone has seen me angry at one time or another. I don't hide that emotion easily. I realized, I've seen Marge hurt. I've seen her worried. I've seen her not feeling physically well. I've seen her flustered - but never angry.

I wish I had that gene. Too much of my life has been wasted being pissed off. Like I said, I believe you are born with the essence of your personality. It's hard-wired to your brain. Even as a child, I was just flat prickly. To be perfectly frank, I don't think anyone would want to deal with me in a delusional state in my senior years. I imagine the worst would shine through.

Thinking back to when I first met Marge. I remember my nervousness. After all I was meeting my new boyfriend's parents. Marge would have been about the age I am now. I remember rocking so fast in a rocking chair that I banged it against a wall, causing heat to rise to my face with embarrassment. I remember the Sunday brunch she prepared with fresh fruit submerged in champagne. Most of all, I remember how welcoming she was.

In the ensuing years, Marge has never once criticized me. She has never once intruded on how we live our lives. Despite many differences in opinion, she has never once argued with me. She has never expressed anger towards me. She has never shown jealousy or possessiveness. For 30+ years she has continued to hold her arms open wide with love and support.

Over those many years, I watched Marge evolve from an empty-nester searching for the next thing, to a professional business woman filled with a need to explore her spirituality and learn more about her body and what she was putting in it. Like many women in their middle years, Marge's most authentic self emerged.

It was with dismay, when, about 5 years ago, we began to notice the forgetfulness and inability to perform simple functions. The eventual diagnosis of Alzheimer's was really a foregone conclusion by the time it was official. Watching her progress through this final affront has been painful. It has also been very frustrating, particularly for my father-in-law, her primary caretaker.

If Marge's life attitude were different, if she had a dark core, or was easily angered, easily dissatisfied or was a hurtful person, I am convinced those traits would be rearing their ugly head's. Traversing Alzheimer's with someone other than Marge would be an entirely different story.

How lucky are we, that despite the many frustrations and the sadness over this betrayal, we have been granted a women who remains happy. A women who expresses her love and her satisfaction in life in every conversation.

That most recent phone call got me thinking, "I wish I were more like my mother-in-law." Life would be so much more fun.

Love You, Dear Marge.

VSL