Why is finding a remote job so damn hard?

 

It is so hard for this disabled senior citizen to find a decent remote job.

I am sixty-eight. I should not have to look for work, but we are on fixed incomes and the prices of everything have been skyrocketing. We were just squeaking by before but now it is hard to stay afloat. And so.

I became disabled in 2002. Since then, I have done volunteer work for the Retired Senior Volunteers Program in two programs and for three or four phone banks. Does that really count for anything? I thought it did, but now it does not seem to be true.

For twenty years, I was an interpreter for the Deaf. I was also a sometime tutor of school subjects for Deaf students and of American Sign Language for beginning interpreters. To supplement my income during slow times, I worked as a market research interviewer/supervisor. I trained new hires.

Before I became a certified interpreter, I was Secretary to the Executive Director of the National Center for Law & the Deaf when it was located at Gallaudet College (now University). I would secretly voice interpret for my boss when he met with Deaf people because his receptive skills were not top notch. He did not fool all the Deaf people. One took me aside and asked why I was making coffee when I should be interpreting.

Before that, I was a unit secretary at the Maryland Rehabilitation Center. My first job was clerk typist for one of the large insurance firms in Baltimore.

You see, I have a lot of experience. I am a very proficient typist and I have worked with MS Office for years as a writer/blogger. I am empathetic and use active listening skills. I make connections with people easily.

I would be an asset to somebody, but employers do not consider me. I have more polite rejection letters from employers than I have from my story submissions.

Too long unemployed?

Too old?

Sucky resume?

There must be an employer out there that would see me as a valuable employee.

A visit from my inner child

 

Once upon a time, I was nineteen years old and living at home with my dysfunctional drinking parents who also happened to be Deaf. I was very unhappy at home because of the drinking and domestic violence but hadn’t yet struck out on my own because of an overly developed sense of responsibility. Who else would interpret for my parents when necessary?

I took sign language classes at the Methodist Church for the Deaf in Baltimore. I was active in the Deaf community there and working my way toward becoming an interpreter. My parents didn’t attend that church. They felt the church did not approve of the Silent Oriole Club, and that’s where my parents went most of the time, to drink, gamble and socialize.

One night there was another serious fight between my parents before dad left for work. He was a printer for the Washington Star in D.C. and worked the overnight shift.

In the morning, I was up and getting ready for work. I passed my parents’ room and saw that my mother seemed to be in a very deep sleep. That was unusual because she was normally up before me. Then I saw the pill bottle on the floor. It was for sine Quan, a depressant the doctor had prescribed for her, and it was empty. I tried to rouse her. She was breathing but totally out cold. I saw a note on her pillow but didn’t stop to read it.

I ran down the stairs, racing to the kitchen to use the phone and call Emergency. My dad was just coming in from work as I was starting to speak to the operator, and I quickly signed what happened. He rushed over, grabbed the receiver, and hung up. He didn’t want me calling anyone yet. He went up the stairs two at a time. The phone began ringing.

I let it ring. I was afraid it was the operator calling back. The phone stopped ringing but, a few moments later, as Dad entered the kitchen, it began ringing again. This time I picked it up and it was the operator. “Is everything all right there?” she asked in a concerned voice. “Do you need the ambulance or the police?”

I stuttered, signing the question to dad and he violently shook his head no. No police, no ambulance. So, I began to reassure the operator that we were okay. “Are you sure?” she asked doubtfully.

I said I was, and she released the call. I was furious with dad. Why didn’t he want me to get help?

Let her sleep it off, he signed. She’ll be fine.

When he left the kitchen, I called the doctor’s answering service and got the answering service to page him. He was very cranky when he called back and very rude. He said we should get mom up and walk and if she didn’t come to, go to the hospital. I heard dad coming back downstairs so I hung up. When he came into the kitchen, I signed to him the advice the doctor had given.

We dragged mom out of bed. We half-dragged, half-walked her around and around and around until she began to wake and become cognizant of where she was.  I had to get away, so I left the two of them to confer, and I didn’t care if there was another fight. I was half out of my mind, angry and terrified and I had to get out of there.

I thought of calling the church. Fortunately, the hearing pastor was there and before I finished my story, he was saying “Grab a bag and get out of there now. Come down to the church.”

With that, I ran back upstairs to my room, loaded up my suitcase with all my journals, a change of clothes and some pajamas. I practically leaped down the stairs and was galloping toward the door. Mom was in the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She looked pale and distraught and waved at me to go, go, and signed that she understood.

The minister helped me get a room at a Methodist women’s boarding house. Everyone at the church was supportive, but I was still traumatized. Starting out at the boarding house helped me adjust to independence because I wasn’t all on my own. There were other boarders to social with and a certain structure (mealtime, signing out, curfew, time to return before the doors were locked, etc.) to follow. Most important of all, I was able to decompress in peace.

Of course, there were a lot of other traumatic events in my life that I learned to cope with from attending ACA (Adult Children of Alcoholics) meetings and therapy. Yet, these memories still flood back and so one of my diagnoses is PTSD.  I learned that there are triggers that cause flash backs. One trigger is when something similar occurs, and that’s what happened over the weekend.

The same but different: an 18-year-old family member living with a dysfunctional adult had a crisis over the weekend. The teen had to leave to avoid another terrible argument. After sleeping in his truck overnight at a local lake, he came to our house to talk with us. It’s an intolerable situation. He needs to break free, as I did so many years ago. Right now, he’s staying with us to decompress and think. He keeps vacillating about what he wants to do. He loves the abusive adult who’d been caring for him for a great deal of his life, but he doesn’t want to be mistreated.

We’re in the process of trying to help him without saying “You should…” He’s a young man now yet still a kid with a growing brain. What we’ve been doing is going over options and strategies and advice, but the ultimate decision will be his.

During this, I’ve been having these flashback memories. I don’t say anything about it except to give a bare bones summary of leaving home at the age of 19. I’ve sought support from my support group. One person said that my inner child wants to be heard. Another mentioned that it’s an opportunity to heal again from an old injury. My therapist has said these memories will always show up again under stress or similar circumstances. Quietly, I reassure my inner child that she is safe and will be safe from now on. I assure her that I will do my best to help this family member not suffer any more trauma from what’s happening. My inner child wants this young person to be safe too.  I give my inner child a big hug. It’ll be all right.

When it's time to stop driving

 Although we don’t like to think about it, we know there will come a time when a parent shouldn’t drive anymore. Convincing a parent to give up driving is traumatizing, especially if Mom or Dad live in a rural area with limited access to mass transportation. Driving is such a necessity to get to doctor appointments, go banking or grocery shopping, or for any other activity.  Parents want to be independent and don’t want to depend on their adult children to drive them around. I was reminded of all this when I read this article from the Arca Max Senior Living newsletter.

Twenty years ago, my parents were living in a rural area of Maryland. My brother lived not too far away, close enough to be able to help when needed.  Dad would grudgingly ask for help making repairs but never asked for a ride. In retirement, he took pleasure in long walks and daily trips to the closest shopping center to buy lottery tickets.

Dad had glaucoma. His father, my grandfather, became blind from glaucoma. As far as we knew, Dad was taking drops to keep his glaucoma under control. What we didn’t realize was that he’d stopped taking the drops because my parents couldn’t afford the cost of theprescriptions. We learned when Mom appealed to my brother and me about Dad’s driving.

He had lost most of his sight but refused to stop driving. He needed to drive so he could get his daily lottery tickets and whatever groceries might be needed. At the time, there was no online banking, so he needed the car to make deposits or withdrawals. He needed to drive my mom to her doctor’s appointments.

However, Mom didn’t want to get in the car anymore. She was afraid that Dad would get into an accident because he could barely see. She used a relay service to call my brother and ask him to take her for her appointments. She confided in him that she felt Dad should stop driving.

This was too difficult to pursue alone for many of the reasons stated in the article I read: Dad was stubborn and would become angry if giving up driving was suggested. It could cause a break in the parent-adult child relationship. My brother called me, and we devised a plan.

My husband is a loving, caring man and suggested we convert part of our house to a private room for my parents. We were aware how hard it was for seniors to stay afloat if they only received social security to support them. We also live in a rural area in New Jersey with limited transportation and could well imagine the isolation and loss of independence my dad would feel. If my parents lived with us, we could take Dad to get his lottery ticket every day and just use the excuse that we needed to get something too.

With that in mind, Ted and I drove to my parents’ place. My brother met us there. Our plan was to get in the car with Dad to observe his difficulties. My brother confirmed that Dad was almost blind. My parents were expecting us; this was supposed to be a family visit.

I was shocked by how blind Dad really was. To see my signs, I had to get up close and sign almost into his eyes. Sometimes a sign requires movement to other places on the body. Dad would hold my wrist when my sign needed to move out of his eye range. American Sign Language has been Dad’s primary language his whole life. When he held my wrist to follow my hand, he knew which word I was trying to convey by rote.  I didn’t say anything, but I was horrified.

Getting down to the matter had become easier. We didn’t make it about age. My brother and I focused on our concern for my parents’ safety. Mom sat quietly, watching. Dad’s response was predictable: He needed to drive because how else would he be able to get groceries, bank or buy his lottery ticket?

At that point, Ted and I stepped in and made our offer. Come live with us. We love to walk on trails in the beautiful county and state parks. There’s a store within walking distance to be able to purchase lottery tickets and other items. Dad’s eyes lit up with joy and relief. He threw his arms around us as Mom’s eyes teared up with relief. Dad gave his car keys to my brother.

Ted and I went back to New Jersey and began converting part of our house to an efficiency. It would be completely private with a separate entrance. We couldn’t afford to add a bathroom or kitchen to the room. There was a bathroom adjacent to the new room, as well as our laundry room. We could share the kitchen and they would have the run of the rest of the house whenever they wanted to socialize. Ted did almost all the work himself, installing wooden rails in the halls and down to the new room for my mom, who had balancing issues.

About a month or so later, the room was ready.

And then Dad died.

Mom said they were watching TV together. She got up and went into the kitchen to make tea. She couldn’t hear the whistling kettle and so she watched for the rising steam.  When she got back to her recliner, she saw that Dad’s eyes were closed. She thought he was asleep and so she watched TV a little longer. When the program was over, she tried to wake Dad. He was already gone.

The death certificate said he passed away from atherosclerosis. Mom said later he’d stopped taking his cholesterol and blood pressure medicines too because of the costs. Still, when we were going through his things, I found a hidden note which said “I don’t want to go. I want to stay here.”  It gave me a deep chill.  Had he just given up because he could no longer drive?

My mother-in-law was in a somewhat similar situation when she had to junk her car. She was in her late 80s at the time and although she had the normal lapses of memory and perception older people are apt to have, she was still sharp and active. We really do live in a remote part of New Jersey. Going to a doctor or a mall or a movie theater involves a drive of at least 30 minutes. Mass transit is virtually non-existent here. She wanted a new used car but is on a fixed income.

Our thought was to pool resources among her family: Ted and I, his brothers and sister. They all said no, she’s too old to drive anymore.  Meanwhile, my mother-in-law was having a stressful time trying to get rides to all the places she needed to go. It was a no-brainer. A good used car became available and so we bought it for her. 

She’s 90 now and uses her car to get to local places like church and shopping.  She is aware of her limitations and when a doctor is 30 minutes away, she’ll ask if Ted can drive her. He’s always accommodating, and this has been beneficial for her and for us.

Someday, Ted and I will be in a similar situation ourselves. I don’t think about it because it really is traumatizing to lose the ability to drive. Someday it will happen, but not now.

January 6th is important for a couple of reasons

 

Today is my husband’s birthday. We are having a family celebration tomorrow so that his mom and the mine part of “yours, mine & ours” kids can be here.

Two years ago, right at this time, we were frozen to our seats in horror as we watched the Capitol being stormed by violent right wing tRump supporters. We were witnessing a coup attempt and never ever dreamed something like that could happen here. Today, the Repugs are still trying to elect a Speaker of the House. Kevin McCarthy has tried 12 times now and has been an epic failure. I’m half afraid that one or more of the QAnon reps will start pulling out their guns and start shooting.

But I set that aside. It’s Ted’s birthday and he is the love of my life now. We both lost our first spouses the same year. Rich died of cardiac arrest which was a result of having Marfan Syndrome. Ted’s wife Audrey died after a procedure went wrong in a hospital she went to because fluid accumulated in her lungs. She had pulmonary hypertension.

We didn’t know each other then. As the sad, lonely months passed I knew I had the support of my best friends, but I missed a male voice. I would call Rich’s work number just so I could hear his voice. When that went away, I thought it might be nice to be pen pals with a widower from out of state.

There was a method to my madness when I signed up with Match.com for a trial membership. I wanted to connect with a widower, no one else, because I felt we would share the same issues of grieving and have a better understanding of what we felt and why. It had to be someone from out of state because I didn’t want to date.  I was sure that Rich was my one and only, even though he’d often said he wanted me to move on if ever he should die.

I had a few widowed pen pals, but it felt superficial. I wanted someone who would open up and talk to me and it wasn’t happening. I continued to receive a few profiles and one stopped me cold. The man reminded me so much of Rich—hair style, glasses, Van Dyke beard. I sent the profile to trash without reading it. I was completely unnerved.

At the end of my trial period 2 months later, I decided not to continue. It just wasn’t working out. I got one more profile. It was him again! I went to delete it but then I swear I heard Rich whisper, “Give him a chance.” My hand froze. Instead of deleting the profile, I read it.

Ted lived in New Jersey. That was cool. I lived in New York. He liked to read (me too) and mentioned he liked cats. I’m a cat person. He was a family man. Other little details appealed to me. He could be a friend, I thought. I decided to go with that whispered voice and sent Ted an email.

Ted responded right back, and we struck up an email conversation. What really attracted me was how well spoken he was and the fact he’d include funny little gifs in the text. The gifs made me laugh. I would respond to him at night after work; he’d write back in the wee hours before he had to leave for work.

Our emails progressed to phone calls. My, how we talked! We would spend hours chatting on the phone about all sorts of topics. I learned he was a union sheet metal worker. He had a large family. He was the eldest of five sons and a daughter. I learned his biological father abandoned his mother and the five boys when Ted was young. Later his mom remarried, and that wonderful man adopted all the boys. Sister Pam was born when Ted was about 12 or 13. I learned all about his life. I shared as much of mine as I dared, still hesitant to speak freely of my childhood.

I’d decided to take my three kids (then 14, 12 and 9) to Disney World in Florida to do something really fun for a change. I’m afraid of flying so I decided to drive down in our new van. It occurred to me that we would be going through New Jersey on the way down so I suggested to Ted we would meet at a place to eat just off the New Jersey Turnpike.

Ted was all for it, suggesting a McDonald’s near Great Adventure Amusement Park. So, on the way down, we pulled off the Turnpike and stopped for lunch and to meet Ted at McDonald’s. We met in the parking lot, and I sensed Ted was nervous, so I took his hand. After that, we enjoyed our lunch and just talked and talked. Finally, I realized we’d better get back on the road. On the way back to our cars, Ted and I stopped and kissed.

The rest is history.

In June, we’ll celebrate our 21^st wedding anniversary. We are so blessed.  It’s a rare gift to find true love just once. It’s a miraculous blessing to find it twice. Happy Birthday to my dear Teddy Bear.

I Always Enjoyed A Circus

 The Christmas season is officially over for me tomorrow, All Kings Day. It's also my husband's birthday and the second anniversary of the attempted coup at our Capital. A lot of really disturbing stuff happened in the last few weeks but I still managed to enjoy the season. And now I have reason to laugh again.

I always enjoyed the circus, especially when I was a child. I always loved the clowns best. Their painted faces didn't scare me, and I laughed at their antics. They were always doing silly things like squeezing themselves into tiny cars. They made fools of themselves and laughed about it.

I got a kick out of the clowns in Congress this week. On January 3, the Rethugs took over the House. Former speaker Nancy Pelosi, my heroine, raised the gavel high in the air and turned it over to ... who?

Kevin McCarthy has been jonesing for that job all this time. He's practically salivated about it, promising all the nasty things the Rethugs were going to do once he officially became Speaker. And, in fact, to appease the GQP crazies in the House, all the metal detectors were removed. McCarthy has practically given away his soul to those traitorous criminals and guess what? They won't vote for him!

I'm listening to the eleventh attempt. It sounds like McCarthy and Rep. Jeffries are getting most of the votes but we'll see. Through all the attempts, all the Democrats have unanimously voted for Jeffries. McCarthy needed 218 votes to win as Speaker of the House. On the first round, he only got 203. Over the next attempts, he's lost a few votes.

What if he doesn't win this time? How many times is he going to humiliate himself by continuing to lose to a band of terrorists of his own making? He should have refused to seat the traitors after their participation and involvement in 9/11 but he didn't. Instead, he supported the Big Lie, supported them and, generally, was a weasel for tRumpism.

That this is happening is his own damn fault.

It was hilarious the first two days. Now, though, it's tiresome. Is McCarthy a masochist or something? Why doesn't he get it through his fat head that he probably won't get all the votes he needs?

It does sound like McCarthy's getting a lot more votes as we progress through the House members. What has he given away now?

If he does lose again, I hope someone's able to get through to him and get him to withdraw. I can't think of any Rethug who would make a decent Speaker.

Yes, I have enjoyed the circus but this one has become pathetic and downright embarrassing. The Rethugs and, in extension, Congress and the US are laughing stocks everywhere here and in the world.

It's a bit dangerous, really. Other countries, friends and foes, will view us as being weak and divided. Well, we are though,, aren't we? I have my fingers crossed that somehow Jeffries will win.

I waited until the votes were counted. Well, McCarthy, you lost again: #11.

A Rethug from Louisiania moved to adjourn until noon tomrrow but the Dems yelled NO so loudly the clerk said she believed the nos won. So, of course, the Rethugs demanded a recording of aye/nay votes and that's what is going on now.  The voting has another 10 minutes to go and I'm going to wait it out until they're done.

In the meantime, I sure would like to think the Repugs are urging Kevin McCarthy to please please please withdraw his name and allow them to nominate someone else. The House isn't able to swear in new members nor are they able to conduct any business at all until there's a Speaker.

The vote is tied with about 6 minutes to go. It's gonna be a close one. I know the Dems would like to force the issue and not give McCarthy anymore time to try and negotiate a deal. I am thinking in my head The Clash song seems appropriate now. "Should I stay or should I go?" the lyric goes.

The final vote: Rethugs 219 in favor of adjourning. Dems were in 212 in favor of not adjourning and, amazingly, 1 Rethug voted with the Dems.  I'd love to know who that was.

Well, on the 2nd anniversary of the coup attempt and with all the metal detectors gone, we're going to have a 12th attempt to choose a Speaker. I have the heebie-jeebies about this for both of those reasons. I pray nothing bad happens tomorrow.