AT&T: The Definition of Customer “Service”

If you’ve ever dealt with AT&T, you may have had an experience similar to mine. The definition of “service” here is the one that means “mating”, as in “the stallion serviced the mare”. Just letting you know before you read this.

Let me give you some background: Last September I received a disconnect notice from Uverse. When I called, they said my debit card had expired, so my (automatic) payment request had been returned from my bank. OK. Fair enough. How much was my bill? $139. WOW! My monthly charge is $60. Why so high? Well, I was told, there is the $60 account fee, plus $50 equipment charge, plus a late fee, plus a reconnect fee, plus a $5 convenience  fee for now paying my bill by phone. So I gave them the new expiration date, and paid the outrageous bill.

Thinking this would be the end of that, I settled into complacency, knowing there would be no more problem until 2021, when my debit card expires again.

Today I get a message from AT&T that my internet service has been disconnected again, and I owe $132. WTF? So I call, go through the infinitely long recorded menu, which informs me I just made a $132 payment on November 20, and finally reach a customer “service” representative. 

She explains that, once again, my payment has been “reversed” by my bank, so I owe the $132 again. She also explains that the bill is high because of yada yada (same as in September). She also informs me that the bill for November will not be “posted” until tomorrow (Dec. 1).

“Why did my payment get reversed?”

“We don’t know. I suggest you call your bank.”

So I make the payment, and immediately call the bank. They tell me they have received no request for payment from AT&T in months. So, of course, I call AT&T back.

Recording:  Is this regarding the payment you made today? Do you wish details?

ME: NO.

Recording: How can I help you? I can understand complete sentences.

ME: I want to speak to a supervisor.

Recording: I’m sorry.  I don’t understand.

ME: I – WANT – TO – SPEAK – WITH – A – SUPERVISOR

Recording: Is this regarding the payment you made today? Do you wish details?

ME: NO. SUPERVISOR PLEASE.

Recording: I’ll  connect you with someone who can help you with that.

Jay: Hello. My name is Jay. How can I help you?

ME: You can connect me with a supervisor.

Jay:  Can you tell me what this is in regards to?

ME: Yes. My Uverse account.

Jay: Maybe it’s something I can help you with.

ME: I seriously doubt that. Just connect me with a supervisor.

Jay: All our supervisors are busy helping other people.

ME:  I’m not surprised. If all your customers are as pissed off as I am, I’m sure they’re ALL busy and will be for a LONG time!

(pause)

Jay: Can you tell me the problem, so I can let the supervisor know, as soon as he is available?

ME: Yes. I can. I want to know why I’m paying $132 a month for piss-poor service, that works about half the time, and I have to use my personal hot spot the rest of the time, and why you say my payments are being “reversed”, but can’t tell me why, other than to call my bank, which I have done, and the bank says your payment request never came through the bank in the first place, and why I’m not informed of a payment reversal until you have disconnected, so there is a reconnect fee, PLUS a $5 inconvenience fee for paying my bill over the phone, when I have an agreement to autopay every month. I also want to know why your automated recording tells me I made a payment on November 20, but your live representative tells me I didn't.  I also want to know how to reach you people, when your auto-recording says they don’t understand my complete sentences, after it has just said it DOES understand complete sentences, because I don’t stutter.

Jay: Thank you for that information. What is the phone number associated with this account?

ME: Do you people not have caller ID? My number is 205-999-9999 (I gave him my number)

Jay: Is that 215-998-8892?

ME: NO. It’s NOT.

Jay: Can you tell me slower?

ME: 2-zero-5-9-9-9-9-9-9-9

Jay: Our supervisors are all still busy.

ME: Of course they are!

20 minutes later, I get a supervisor.

John: Thank you for waiting. I hope you’re having a great day!

ME: No. Actually I WAS having a great day until I had to interface with AT&T. It has been steadily downhill since then.

John: Well, I’m gonna make your day great again!

ME: We will see…  (and I tell him the same thing I told Jay).

John did make my day a little better, informing me that the debit card number they have “on file” isn’t mine, nor is it even close to my actual number. No wonder my payment is being “reversed”. So far, so good, until…

John: I’m going to make your day even better. We can bundle your TV, phone…

ME: I’ve already got ONE AT&T service that works half the time, and charges a FORTUNE for that half time. Why in the world would I want to have TV and telephone that also work half the time, and furthermore, that I can’t get help with when I need help, because the customer “service” people don’t know anything, and supervisors are always busy, because customers get so upset that only a supervisor can help them? What y’all apparently need down there are more supervisors. NO. I do NOT want to bundle ANYTHING with AT&T. I wouldn’t have Uverse in the first place if there were any other single service in my area. When there is, rest assured, I will be OFF your books entirely.

John: So I’ve made your day better?

ME: (sigh) Yes. I guess so. Slightly maybe.

John: Thank you for using AT&T.

Customer SERVICE. At its BEST.

Rest In Peace, Sailor

Every December, when the ‘Wreaths Across America' program is presented at the Alabama National Cemetery, Col. Bob Barefield reminds us that beneath each marble marker is not just a faceless VETERAN, but a son or daughter, a brother or sister, a mother or father, or a friend. He challenges us to write down the name from the stone where we place our wreath, and when we get home, research that veteran. Find out who he really was.

I received an email that had dozens of recipients listed, requesting that if I am able and available, I attend an interment service at the Alabama National Cemetery for a “homeless veteran, who has been in the morgue since last October”.  Apparently this Navy veteran was estranged from his family, and had no friends either. It would be up to his fellow veterans to pray for him, bid him Rest In Peace, and to thank him for standing his watch, assuring him that he can now “Stand down. We have the watch now.”

The Patriot Guard Riders (PGR), as always, unhesitatingly answered the call. Besides providing a motorcycle honor guard for the final leg of the journey, they also stood an unwavering flag line for this veteran that none of them knew personally.  Six of them solemnly carried the coffin to the committal shelter, and one of them accepted the triangular folded flag. At their own expense, the PGR stood in for family and friends. Not only patriotism, but camaraderie at its very best.

      

The two sailors who folded the flag were uniformed in immaculate, crisp white uniforms,  and performed that honored duty with precision.  

The bugler played TAPS.

As I witnessed this solemn final goodbye, I wondered why. This sailor was a Vietnam veteran, so he was somewhere around my age. Why was he “estranged” from his family? Who had his family been?

Did he have a wife that he had wronged in some way? Children? Brothers or sisters? What in the world could he have done that nobody will even come to his funeral? I have to think his parents are deceased, because I can’t imagine a mother not loving her son, no matter what he has done.

He was once a baby, whose parents and grandparents marveled at his first smile, his first word, his first step. He was taken to Olan Mills and photographed as the most beautiful baby ever born. They put his picture in a frame and proudly displayed it on the mantle.

Once he attended elementary school, cleaned blackboard erasers, played baseball, flirted with a little girl. He had friends on the playground. Once he attended high school, played football or basketball, or played in the marching band.  Maybe he drove a beat-up old Ford Falcon with no hubcaps. He took a girl to a movie, bought her popcorn, and kissed her goodnight.

And once he  visited a recruiter and took that oath... signed that line... that check, “made payable to the United States of America, for an amount up to and including his life”. He endured basic training, and served – HONORABLY -in Vietnam. He shared the “watch”. He had buddies. He laughed and he probably cried. Maybe he played penny ante poker or Bid Whiz with his shipmates. For sure he missed someone back home. And for sure we didn't say, "Welcome home, Sailor."

Then, sometime in the last 50 years he did something so horrendously terrible that he alienated everyone except God. Maybe he had PTSD. Many Vietnam veterans did, and were not given treatment. Maybe he was subjected to Agent Orange. Many Vietnam veterans were, and were not given treatment. Maybe he became addicted to drugs or alcohol. Many Vietnam veterans did, and were not given treatment.

After the ceremony, I asked 3 different people what the veteran’s name was.  Nobody knew.  So I went to the main office and asked there.

When I got home, I tried to research this faceless, forgotten, unloved, friendless, homeless veteran. Nothing. Except the PGR, who also took on the job of obituary.  On their website is the announcement of  the passing of  PO3 George Schenck,  US Navy, Vietnam..... but that's not all...

Following that announcement are dozens of condolence messages – all from Patriot Guard Riders, including this one:

I am forever grateful for your service to our country. Your service and sacrifices will not be forgotten. You are a TRUE AMERICAN HERO. May you Forever Rest in Peace. Stand Down. Your mission is complete. U.S. Army Retired,Airborne

The PGR once again serves the USA and this veteran who served her. His stand-in “friends”.

Semper Fraternitus!

Surviving Loss

When I learned Brandon and Jennifer Harris were leaving Avondale UMC, I felt a genuine and profound sorrow deep in my gut. If you know me personally, you know I don't handle goodbyes well at all. I don't even say, "goodbye" on the phone. I've been known to stay at a job I hated for years because I couldn't bring myself to say goodbye to my co-workers. For me, GOODBYE means LOSS.

On some level, I know the intense sorrow I feel now will gradually fade, but I also know that will take time. It's the nature of the "grief process" that I have to endure until time (and some effort on my part) heals the hole left in my heart by the absence of someone I love.

Helen Kubler-Ross spent her whole life studying grief. She interviewed thousands of dying patients and their families. While her research involved death and dying, her findings are applicable to any loss, whether it's the death of a family member or a beloved pet, or loss of a limb or eyesight, or loss of a job or loss of mobility. It also applies to temporary or minor losses, such as children moving away, or going away to college (more commonly referred to as "empty nest syndrome"), divorce, or even losing a pastor you've come to love.

So, in an effort to help myself through this grief process, I'm revisiting Kubler-Ross's "stages of grief". Like back to nursing school.

Stage 1 is DENIAL. It's the stage I was in for several weeks when I learned Brandon might be leaving. I thought, surely not. He has been there only 6 years, and we are in the middle of a Capital Campaign. Surely the bishop will leave him there at least until that's over. Besides, Brandon has been responsible for so much growth and rejuvenation there. We NEED him, so It just can't happen.

Stage 2 is BARGAINING. I went through that too. BIG TIME. I prayed. "Dear Lord, If you let Brandon and Jennifer stay here, I'll never miss church again. I'll give more money to the church. I'll stop making excuses about why I can't sing in the choir. I'll 'greet my neighbor' with joy instead of reluctance. PLEASE let him stay here." I tried bargaining with the District Superintendent. That lasted about 3 seconds. So it was back to, "Dear Lord, please soften the heart of the Superintendent and the bishop. I'll do anything." I'm human, not Jesus. I couldn't bring myself to say, "Not my will, but THINE be done." Well, I might have said it, but I didn't honestly FEEL it.

Stage 3 is ANGER. For me, anger was mixed with the bargaining. I was angry at the District Superintendent, angry at the bishop, but also angry at myself. What did I personally do to cause this event? What could I have done different? Why couldn't I find the words or the actions or the prayer to make a difference? It's not fair! How in the world can this happen? Why NOW? The helplessness I felt in not being able to change the decision made me angry. I HATE feeling powerless!

Stage 4 is DEPRESSION. Depression is something I don't do well either. It's too painful. But it seems like that's the stage I'm moving into now. During the depression stage, I know I will be sad and discouraged. The plea in my prayers was useless. All the emotional investment and all the trust and all the faith and all the expectations I put into the relationship with Brandon and Jennifer is disintegrating. Disappearing before my very eyes. I am heartbroken. Hopeless... well, DEPRESSED.

Stage 5 is ACCEPTANCE, and Kubler-Ross adds INTEGRATION INTO A NEW LIFE STYLE. As I participate in the transition, I know action will help. It's hard for me to be depressed if I am active. Acceptance will happen when I can truthfully say to God, "I'm sorry I didn't trust You to know what is best. I relinquish my stubbornness and put my faith in You. Please continue to bless me and Avondale UMC." I know depression won't change the facts. And it doesn't help me or anyone else. If I'm to help myself, I have to accept the change and move forward. It doesn't mean I won't miss Brandon and Jennifer acutely and deeply, but it does mean a healthy transition.

There is a new pastor on the horizon, and I owe it to her (and frankly, to myself) to offer her my love and support. I'm sure it's difficult for her to leave the congregation she has loved the last 3 years and come into an unknown environment at Avondale UMC. That goodbye is probably just as hard for her as this one is for me. But fortunately for me, I have a loving and supportive church family, and I know God will help us help each other through this goodbye, and move forward with that same love and support for Malinda and Disney Weaver. And most importantly, move forward WITH JOY.

Goodbye Wildflowers

I just rid my front yard of its wildflower garden. Violets, clover, marjoram, dandelions, and some purple flower that grows on a little stalk. According to my health app, I walked 1.5 miles around the yard in the process.

Many people look forward to Spring, so they can do what I just did. I don't. I don't particularly mind mowing the lawn, especially in this weather, but I definitely don't find it ENJOYABLE.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I have 2 grown sons. Well, that's an entirely 'nother story, and besides, last year, for Mother's Day, one of them  bought me a marvelous self-propelled, key-start mower. I really DO love my mower... if only I didn't have to walk around the yard behind it.

So, speaking of grown sons... two of their childhood friends now own landscaping companies. What a great opportunity that might be to get my lawn mowed by one of the boys that spent many of his childhood years at my table, in my car going to movies or to the lake, or in my basement, playing music.

So I called one of them. The conversation went something like this:

C.W. : HEY, Miz B! Geez, it's been a long time! How in the world are you? 

Me:  I'm great! I was sorry to hear about your divorce, and I've been thinking about you. I hope you are well also.

C.W.: Yeah. The b*@*h took me for everything I had. I'm having to work seven days a week now. 

Me: Oh that's sad, C.W.. I hear you're in the landscaping business.

C.W.: Well, sorta. When I can get that work. Mostly I just mow lawns, but hey... it buys groceries!

Me: That's actually what I was calling about. What would you charge me to come mow my front yard? 

C.W.: Oh, Miz B, I couldn't charge you, but I am booked solid through the weekend!

Me: What about sometime next week? How much?

C.W. I really couldn't charge you anything to mow your yard. Not after all you did for me and my brother when we were kids.

Me: Awww. That's so sweet of you to remember. Those were some hard, but good times, weren't they?

C.W. Yes they were! Got some great memories. 

Me: Anyway, I would be glad to pay you to mow the yard. I will have to pay somebody. Might as well be you.

C.W. Nah. I wouldn't feel right charging you.

Me: OK. well, come over and mow it for free. I'll cook you dinner.

C.W. I wish I could afford to do it, Miz B, but I can't mow for free. Just can't pay the bills that way.

OH EM GEE!

And THAT's why I mowed down the wildflowers myself.

Love Thy Neighbor as Thyself

can  be one of the toughest commandments to follow, especially if your "neighbor" has Alzheimer's Disease, or another form of dementia.

From the neighbor's point of view, research shows that dementia is THE MOST FEARED illness of people over 65, because it threatens the person's identity as SELF and his role as a productive, contributing member of the community. In Jesus' time, those with leprosy were not allowed into the temple, and were isolated from social relationships. Sadly, the shame and stigma often associated with dementia can lead to the same sort of isolation. We refer to the person with dementia as "a burden on his son", or "an empty shell". In our society, ceasing to be a productive member of society marks us as a "failure" at successful aging. Too often we fail the test of loving our neighbor by treating the neighbor with dementia as someone who has already passed away.

We don't bring them to church because "he doesn't get anything out of it anymore". We don't visit, because "she doesn't know who I am anymore", or "I don't know what to say to him". We leave him alone with his daughter until she is too exhausted and isolated to go on anymore, and then put him in a nursing home, where he can be "properly cared for".

I'm through preaching, because I'm preaching more to myself than to you. In researching what I intended to be an article on the medical aspects of Alzheimer's, I realized there is not much we can do about developing the disease; but there is VERY MUCH we can do about our attitude and loving behavior toward our neighbor with dementia.

Let's think about "friendship", and how we form friends. Our friends are those with whom we have years of shared experiences. Over time, the shared experiences become shared memories. A community is a web of friendships. How can I be a "friend" to someone who no longer remembers the story of our friendship, or who may not even recognize my name or my face?

We are unwilling to give our friends permission to enter into the world of memory loss. We greet them in a loud voice with a string of questions. "Do you know who I am?"  "What day is it?" " What did you have for breakfast?" Consciously or not, we are attempting to pull them back from memory loss and orient them to the cognitive universe they formerly inhabited.   John T. McFadden, M. Div.

It has been said that people might not remember what you said, or what you did, but they will remember how you made them feel. Never is this truer than for the person with Alzheimer's. We should interact with them in ways that bring them comfort, joy, and freedom from anxiety.

When we visit our friend with dementia, we should  greet her gently and positively. Do not ask, "Do you know who I am?" but rather announce who you are. "Hello. It's your friend [Ginger]. You look good today." Even these few words may not be fully understood, and she might not recognize you either, but you have established a positive emotional tone.

It is pointless to try to discuss world affairs or politics. On the contrary, because of your years of friendship, you know your friend's interests, passions, and things that bring her joy. You probably know many things about her she no longer remembers about herself.

One article suggests that we listen to a piece of music the friend liked, take a walk together, or look through photos or a family album. Do NOT engage in a game of twenty questions, because that can cause great anxiety. So, when you point to a picture, do not ask, "Who is this?" Rather ask: "What do you think he is doing?"

Will your friend with dementia know who you are? Perhaps not, at least by name. But this does not mean that your friend does not know you as one who cares, and who brings comfort and pleasure. The soul continues to know those it cherishes, even if the brain can no longer supply a cognitive context.  --John T. McFadden, M. Div.

Pastor John's Great Medical Journal

Until about 100 years ago, the church was inextricably involved in health care. From the time Jesus healed the sick and cared for the infirm, down through the ages, Christians have taken care of their flocks. 

As recently as 50 years ago, many hospitals were still owned and run by church organizations. Here in Birmingham, there was Carraway Methodist, St. Vincent's Catholic, Baptist Princeton and Baptist Montclair, and Holy Name of Jesus Hospitals. Almost every large hospital was church-owned. So involvement of the religious community in healthcare goes 'way, 'way back. When medicine became too expensive for the churches to support, private companies and conglomerates bought out the hospitals, and today very few church hospitals remain. But there was a time...

In the mid-1700s, a certain young preacher rebelled against doctors and modern medicine. While he was involved with saving souls, he was just as concerned with healing bodies. He was to become one of the most renowned healers of his day.

Preacher John rejected the "doctors" of his day, and looked to Nature and natural cures for most diseases. A writer as well as a preacher, he published many papers and books, but his best-selling book was titled, "Primitive Physick or An Easy and Natural Method of Curing Most Diseases".  He spent years gathering  remedies and treatment methods from people who had used them. Remedies that were tried and true. 

John looked upon doctors as "Men of Learning", but who inverted healing. John thought the doctors laid aside experience and relied on theories. More concerned with how the body and its parts worked than in healing the person, the doctors of his time speculated and mixed herbs and used exotic treatments, "'til at length Physick became an abstruse science, quite out of the reach of ordinary men... They filled their writings with abundance of technical terms, utterly unintelligible to plain men" (which might be even more true today). John saw the person as more than a broken bone, or a kidney stone, and felt one's first aid kit should contain natural and readily available medicines that everyone could obtain and use. His idea was that wellness meant more than just absence of illness. It involved the "whole" person.

"Primitive Physick" contains numerous natural remedies for almost every known malady of the time - from BOILS (Apply a little Venice Turpentine; OR, a plaster of honey and wheat-flower; OR of figs...) to CORNS (Apply fresh every morning the yeast of small beer, spread on a rag; OR boil the juice of radishes, 'till it is thick enough to spread as a plaster. Shift it as it grows dry; OR apply fresh ivy leaves daily, and in fifteen days they will drop out.) to VERTIGO (Take a vomit or two; OR use the cold bath for a month; OR on a May morning, about sunrise, snuff up daily the dew that is on mallow leaves; OR take every morning half a dram of mustard seed.)

To cure convulsive asthma, "dry and powder a toad. Make it into small pills, and take one every hour until the convulsions cease." To cure baldness, "rub the part morning and evening with onions, till it is red; and rub it afterwards with honey." In fact, Primitive Physick actually includes 18 cures for baldness.

The book includes instructions and cures  for "An Easy and Safe Vomit", "Involuntary Urine", "To Increase Milk", "An Old Stubborn Pain in the Back", "An Easy Purge" and "A Stronger Purge".  It gives child-rearing instructions (Move over, Dr. Spock!) "No child should ever be swathed tight. It lays the foundation for many diseases." "Tis best to wean a child at about seven months old. They should lie in the cradle at least a year." "Parents should dip their children in cold water every morning, until they are three quarters old." "Milk, milk porridge, and water-gruel are the proper breakfast for children."

John also  became interested in the curative powers of electricity, and his shock treatments were the forerunner of some of our modern electrical medicine: electroconvulsive shock therapy (EST), and maybe even cardioversion (the defibrillator)... but that was another book, and it didn't sell as well.

This turned out more a book report than an article, but I was so fascinated with what I read about it that I bought the book. Couldn't put it down. As a Congregational Health Nurse, I found the concept of healing the body along with the spirit and the soul right down my alley, so to speak. Furthermore, it was fascinating that this young man of faith would be so keenly interested in healing physical and mental illnesses, not to mention that this book, of all the books he wrote, was his very best seller. 

"Primitive Physick" by John Benjamin Wesley... and, as Paul Harvey always said,  now you know the rest of the story. 

Poor Homeless, Hungry, Helpless Veterans

This will not be a popular post, so be forewarned. My disclaimer, as always, is that the opinions herein expressed are MINE, and nobody else's. Reading is your decision.

Everyone who knows me knows I'm a bit of a nonconformist. But I'm a peaceful sort, and if I don't agree with you, I tend to just keep my mouth shut. You are entitled to your opinions, even if they're bigoted, biased or downright absurd. I don't like arguing.

The other thing everyone knows is that I'm a U.S. Army veteran. In my spare time, I advocate for, work for, and volunteer for  veterans organizations and for veterans. And aside from veterans, I work with "the homeless" in various places and for several organizations that serve the homeless here in Birmingham.

I also hate public SOAPBOXING, so am doing that here, in my little blog rant world.
Now then... 

For the last 60 or so years, the Call of the Union has been, "Everything that hasn't been handed to African/Americans, and everything any of them hasn't accomplished, and any unemployment or hunger they suffer is MY FAULT." ("MY" refers to any WASP, but mostly to us Southern WASPs.) Well, black lives DO matter. As do white lives, blue lives, yellow lives, and all other human lives, whatever the color of their skin or uniforms. As Forest Gump said, "THAT'S ALL I HAVE TO SAY ABOUT THAT." 

Suddenly, or maybe gradually and I just missed it, the Call of the Union has changed to, "Everything that hasn't been handed to veterans, and everything any of them hasn't accomplished, and any unemployment or hunger or homelessness they suffer is YOUR FAULT." (This "YOUR" refers to anyone who is a non-veteran; OR any veteran who owns an eating establishment who hasn't opened it up for free to any hungry  veteran, an apartment building who hasn't opened it up for free to homeless veterans, or owns a business who hasn't hired veterans whether they're qualified  or not, and whether they have any work ethic or not.) I don't fit any of those categories, so it's not MY fault this time.

I can't speak for the whole United States, but I CAN speak fairly knowledgeably about the veterans and the homeless in Birmingham. And there are many. As some of you know, I've had conversations with the homeless in and around Avondale Park, and with the homeless around the downtown area (Church of the Reconciler neighborhood). THESE are the truly homeless. There are various circumstances that caused it, and a few of these are veterans, but not many. 

WOAH! WAIT! "...a few of these are veterans...?" Yep. VERY few. Why? Because Birmingham has about a dozen resources for homeless veterans. All of these resources provide the honorably-discharged veteran (with a legitimate DD-214) a clean, warm place to live, 3 meals a day, and job training. They also provide transportation to and from the V.A. Hospital when needed.  

So, why aren't ALL veterans NOT homeless here? Well, there are several reasons, and here are the most common I've run across in the last couple of years:

1. They aren't veterans. They are pretending to be, or saying they are, because VETERAN is an emotional buzz-word,  and appeals to people who then feel patriotic and sorry for them and give them money.

2. They were dishonorably discharged and don't qualify. They stole stuff, they lost their temper and  injured somebody on our side, they did drugs and failed rehab 3 times, they failed to go to work (AWOL), or went to the job site, but sold supplies or equipment or vehicles that weren't theirs to sell, and were kicked out. (Just like a civilian job would have done.)

3. They were honorably discharged, but aren't willing to conform to the rules of the resources - ie, no drinking, no drugs, 10:00pm curfew, get up every morning, be willing to "help around the house" - chores such as cooking, cleaning up, mopping, etc., be willing to train for a job of some sort, and no overnight guests in the home. In other words, they trade the security and comfort of a home for the freedom that homelessness provides. It's THEIR DECISION! (Just like a disgruntled spouse might have done.)

Since we also have many homeless shelters here that don't require veteranship, number 3 applies to most of the rest of the homeless. It's essentially their choice. More than once, I've offered to give rides to a shelter to some of the homeless in Avondale Park, and to a man -and one woman- they would rather sleep in the bitter cold pavillion than have to go somewhere they can't drink and have to "work". And one of them told me, when I tried to give him a can of vienna sausages, "Ms Ginger, anyone hungry here is by choice or lying. There are 3 places within walking distance that serve meals 7 days a week. Don't fall for that. They're looking for booze money."

But I digress...

Let me address the jobless veteran  problem:

The veterans who don't work, or don't want to work are, by definition, unemployed. Veterans are citizens like everyone else. They are human. They are... well... like YOU. The only REAL difference between you and me is that I signed the line and went to war for my employment. I was very lucky in that my wartime "job" was much like my civilian job. I was a nurse, and when I got back, I was still a nurse. That fact doesn't apply to all veterans. For example, if Sgt Smith was a munitions expert in the military, that job isn't usually available in the civilian world. So, if he chooses to leave military employment, he will probably have to retrain for a different job in the civilian workplace. If a military member plans to quit her or his military job, he or she needs to think seriously about what job the future holds. My daddy always said, "It's easier to GET a job if you HAVE a job." Maybe one should see what is available out there BEFORE he/she quits the current job, just like most normal civilians do.

In and around Birmingham, we do have several job fairs every year. In 2015 there were 6 that I know of and 5 I was involved in. Those five job fairs had 30 or more employers that wanted and targeted veterans for employment. Some of them said that the work ethic of veterans, along with the general physical fitness of veterans, made them very desirable for their job openings. These job fairs were advertised on Al.com, on the radio, and in local veterans newsletters. Before 3 of those job fairs, I went to various places that veterans hang out and posted signs, talked to people, talked to spouses, emailed veterans I know are looking for jobs, etc... and it was a total waste of my time. For those 3 job fairs, we had less than a dozen veterans show up, and most of those  were from the veteran shelters that provide job training.  

Folks, YOU CAN LEAD A HORSE TO WATER, BUT YOU CAN'T MAKE HIM DRINK! At what point do people take ANY responsibility for their own situation???

So it comes down to this: 

I am SICK to PUKING of some people USING their veteran status to glean sympathy. I am even SICKER of some people using their veteran status as an excuse for homelessness, hunger, unemployment or dishonesty. The V.A. and other organizations (Wounded Warriors, Three Hots and a Cot, Operation Wounded Warrior, Homes for our Troops, No Excuses Charitable Fund, etc) gone OVER and ABOVE in providing veterans with all kinds of benefits civilians don't get. They can get free health care, and then whine about how long it takes to get an appointment. They can get a free college education (G.I. Bill), and whine about unemployment. If their "disability" is legitimate, mental or physical, they can get free money for the rest of their lives, and whine about being hungry. They can get free housing and meals but prefer the freedom to whine about "poor me. I'm homeless."

And while I'm ranting, I might as well rant about all the employed, retired, homed in suburbia, and well-fed veterans who aren't interested in knowing what is going on in the rest of the veteran world. The ones who go about their civilian jobs, their lawns, their health clubs, their lives, but don't want any part of the numerous veterans organizations that DO keep up with what is going on, and that help veterans and their families  in so many ways I can't even begin to list all the ways: The VFW, the American Legion, Amvets, etc. 

Let me reiterate that I'm talking Alabama here. I don't have any information about other states, so if you are living in Oklahoma or somewhere reading this, it might not apply to veterans in your state. I'm sorry. I'm not accountable for the rest of the U.S.

OK. I'm done. For now...

Ethical Question

I don't know why I feel compelled to write this, other than I see so many articles and memes about paying McDonalds workers as if burger flipping is a skilled lifetime career. And also because the last 2 jobs I had (for a total of 15 years) before I retired seldom provided raises, and when there WAS a raise, it was 15-25 cents/hour... not even CLOSE to the cost of living. More of a token raise. I wanted to say, "Poor ole company. If 25 cents is what you think I'm worth, or what you can afford, maybe you ought to keep it.  After taxes, I won't net more than $100 a year anyway.

Where was I going with this?

Oh yes! I remember...  There is  a saying that goes something like, "Do something you love, and you'll never work a day in your life."

Nursing was not what I wanted to do. NOT my idea of a fun job, and certainly not anything I loved.  I remember one job that every day, when I got to the parking deck, I would begin shaking, crying, and feeling nauseated. It took all the courage and strength I could muster to walk the quarter mile from my car to the time clock. Hate doesn't begin to describe my feelings about that job, or many others I've had. They paid great, but boyohboy, were they HORRIBLE jobs. Horrible work environment, horrible supervisors/bosses, horrible hours.

Then I discovered teaching. OMG! I LOVED it! It didn't pay very much, so I still had to work some weekend shifts over at the Brookwood torture chamber, but Monday through Friday, I was in job heaven!

With that in mind, think about this ethical question:

If you come to work at my McDonalds franchise as a crew member, and you know the pay is $8.25/hour, how hard will you work for that money? 

I'm not making any value judgements here, but I ask you to really think about that. If it were ME, I have to say I would work every minute, every hour. My inner adult requires me to do my best - whether it's as a McDonalds crew member, or as a nurse at Brookwood Prison, or as a teacher at Virginia College... regardless of the pay. I knew what the pay was when I took the job, and I agreed to give an honest hour's work for THAT pay. 

OK. Now, what if there was a miracle, and all of a sudden, the pay DOUBLED? What if the McDonalds crew member job now pays $16/hour? Will I work  twice as hard for double the pay? I WILL? Then I was lying when I said I would give it my "all" at $8.25/hour, wasn't I?  

Will I work twice as hard at Brookwood Iron Maiden for $60/hour? Well, no. And not for $100/hour. I'm already at my limit. But at Virginia College? For $50/hour? Again, no. I'm already "working" at maximum capacity, but enjoying every second of every minute. 

If I cheat my employer of my time and talent because of the pay, then how ethical am I? I contend that if I value myself at all, and I agree to work, whatever I do, I will do just the same for that pay, or double that pay. If McDonalds pays $8 or $16 or $25 or $50/hour, the worker will still do the same work, at the same pace, because that's who he/she is. 

So you say, "It's better to cry in a BMW than on a bicycle." 

I say, "Crying sucks the same, wherever you do it."

Hate and Fear - It's for Everyone.

I am not on a bandwagon here. Like some of my peers, I have mixed feelings, and I don't have any answers. This is just one woman's perspective.

"He who doesn't understand history is doomed to repeat it" is a familiar statement these days. So let me give you some historical facts:

Pre-WWII, many Jews, and other groups in Germany were being abused, garnered in remote camps, starved and displaced. "Travesty" and "tragedy" doesn't even begin to describe the horrors perpetrated by Adolph Hitler and his henchmen. As my brother, red-eyed and shaking,  said when we exited the Holocaust Museum in Washington D.C., "Is there any way I can UNSEE what I've just seen?"

From 1938 to 1941, the world had an inkling of what was going on over there in Germany, but nobody - not one country - organized any specific rescue plan for the victims. In 1941,  President Roosevelt instituted a policy for refugees/displaced persons to come to the U.S., but that didn't happen. In short, by 1952, 137,450 Jewish refugees had been rehomed here, over a fourteen year period. That is not quite 10,000 per year. You can read the details here, and I hope you do:  

http://www.ushmm.org/wlc/en/article.php?ModuleId=10007094

But here is one quote from the article:

"While some American activists sincerely intended to assist refugees, serious obstacles to any relaxation of US immigration quotas included public opposition to immigration during a time of economic depression, xenophobia, and antisemitic feelings in both the general public and among some key government officials."

Now, we are in the throes of another world refugee crisis.  Is history repeating itself?

I PERSONALLY understand the situation we are in. I am retired, so I know the limitations and problems of surviving with limited resources (Social Security), limited and expensive healthcare (Medicare), fuel costs (including not just gas for the car, but gas and electricity for my home, which still has 5 years left on the mortgage), food costs, and medication costs. I know I'm better off than the vast majority of retired people here, though, because I have almost $14,000 in my 401k, and over $2000 in my savings account. Most have no savings or retirement plan at all. 

I'm sharing those personal details so you know I'm not sitting up in Mt Brook or somewhere, preaching from an elite perspective. I'm not homeless, either. I'm in between those extremes, like most everybody else in America.

So, here we are, still in economic depression, still sporting xenophobia (fear of people from other countries, particularly those from Syria), and now with antimuslim feelings "in both the general public and among some key government officials."

After the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, the United States rounded up everyone of Japanese origin and herded them to encampments. Why? Because we were afraid the American Japanese would turn on us and begin eliminating our other citizenry. Can you say, "kneejerk reaction"?

We haven't started displacing our Muslim citizens into camps yet, thank God (or Allah), but almost everyone over the age of 3 is terrified of them. 

Many governors, including Alabama's, have said, "Syrian refugees are not allowed in my state," as if there is a Great Wall around the states with armed guards checking drivers licenses or something when people cross the State line. Last week, when I went to Tennessee, there was no wall, but there WAS a sign that said, "Welcome to Tennessee". When I came home, there still was no wall, no armed guards, no "Alabama-Resident-Checkin". There was a HUGE sign that said, "Welcome to Alabama the Beautiful". Beautiful for ME, maybe. But beautiful for everyone coming into Alabama, especially if they're not a bonafide resident? I'm not so sure.

I'm as afraid of terrorists as the next citizen, but I'm equally wary/afraid of any people wandering around  parking lots, unfamiliar cars parked on my dead-end street, and knocks on my door when I'm not expecting visitors. I glance in my back seat before I get in my car, I get my key out of my purse before I leave the building, and I try not to park next to vans without windows. I'm not paranoid. I'm just aware.

I admit I'm not afraid of the Muslim attendants at the Shell station or the Marathon station in my neighborhood. I'm not afraid of the Muslim customers at our Brown Bag mission (incidentally, it wasn't Muslim customers that shot the lady at Four Winds. It was white male customers, who had also attended services at the church). I'm not afraid of the Muslims that live behind me, whose children come out to pet Major Big Dog when I walk him around the block. I wasn't afraid of the Muslims who were eating dinner at Ming's Cuisine last month. (Didn't know they liked Chinese food. I guess some of them do.) I'm not afraid of the Muslims shopping at Winn Dixie. And I'm not afraid of the Muslims walking around the Galleria. Do you think I should be? Then let me ask you this:

How can you identify a Muslim if she/he isn't wearing the traditional/cultural headwear? How can you identify Syrians from those from any other Middle Eastern country? If I'm afraid of Muslims, should I also be afraid of Baptists? What about the Westboro Baptists? How do I differentiate between them and the Vestavia Baptists? What about Japanese? They might be carrying a WWII grudge because of their grandparents. Then there are the Jews we didn't let take refuge here 70 years ago. Oh my goodness! How do I identify THEM, if their name doesn't end with -stein?

And, since I'm Caucasian, maybe I should be afraid of ANYONE with dark skin, be they of Middle Eastern, African, Israeli, Pakistani or South American descent. 

In fact, maybe I should stay home, lock my doors, and watch out for the Mexicans across the street. 

Please Don't Eat the Christmas Tree

One of the most observed rituals of the Christmas season is decorating for the holiday. Most Christians, and many non-Christians adorn their homes with lights and festive plants in bright colors.  And every year, about 25,000 people are injured by this cheery greenery.

Although it is difficult to find exact statistics, The New York Poison Control Center reported that every year, about 20% of all calls it receives involve plants, so while holiday plants are great gifts, and everyone loves them, it is important to be aware of the dangers, both to children and to pets. Like you do with everything else in your home, keep toxic plants out of reach.

Let's take a look at the most popular Christmas plants:

Pointsettia: This beautiful Christmas flower has gotten a bad rap over the years. While it isn't something you want to put in a salad, it also isn't particularly dangerous. While eating a few poinsettia leaves might cause nausea or vomiting, research shows that only ingestion of very large amounts of this plant may be harmful. If you rub the milky sap from the plant on your skin, you might get an itchy rash. Beyond that, poinsettias are unlikely to cause a problem for your children or your pets.

Holly: The stiff green leaves and bright red berries are often very attractive to children. In many homes, holly is a traditional decoration for Christmas. Since medieval times, the plant has carried a Christian symbolism (remember the hymn, "The Holly and the Ivy"?) Well,  holly berries are highly toxic. Ingestion of even twenty berries could result in death. Though the bright red berries are the part of the plant most commonly consumed, the bark, leaves and seeds are also toxic. You might have heard that chocolate is lethal to dogs. Well, the poison compound in holly is in the same caffeine family as the toxic chemical in chocolate, but many times more concentrated in holly parts. DO NOT EAT HOLLY!

Amaryllis: An amaryllis bulb is a common holiday gift. Amaryllis bulbs (as well as daffodil and narcissus bulbs) may be forced to bloom indoors, to produce showy holiday blooms. Eating the bulbs can cause abdominal pain, cardiac arrhythmias, and convulsions. The leaves are slightly less poisonous, but shouldn't be eaten either. Amaryllis bulbs are more likely to be eaten by pets than by children, so keep them out of reach of both your pets and your kids.

Jerusalem Cherry: The Jerusalem cherry is actually a species of nightshade. The fruit looks and tastes like a cherry tomato. Kids might eat enough to cause nausea and vomiting, but generally it is not life-threatening to humans. Pets are a different story. It is highly toxic to animals, and probably birds too. Do NOT allow your pet to to eat Jerusalem cherries.

Boxwood: Commonly used in holiday wreathes and draping, the twigs and leaves of boxwood contain a toxic alkaloid. Ingestion could result in severe stomach problems, convulsions, and even respiratory failure. Do NOT eat boxwood.

Christmas trees:  Coniferous trees maybe toxic if eaten in very large amounts. Small amounts may cause irritation and stomach upset, or can cause aspiration or obstruction. Since the needles or foliage of a Christmas tree are generally sharp, it is unlikely that either pets or children will chow down on one. A skin rash may result from coming in contact with the sap, though. (In spite  of what Euel Gibbons espoused back in the 1970s, pine cones are  not toxic but are not edible either.) So discourage your pets and children from snacking on the Christmas tree.

I saved the best for last, so you would read this far.

Mistletoe: This is the most powerful Christmas plant of all. It makes holiday romance democratic, by making everyone equally kissable - friends, strangers, and distant cousins. Wander beneath a sprig of mistletoe, and like it or not, you become fair game to anyone whose lips are within range. And it is unarguably the most interesting of the Christmas plants.

The scientific name is phoradendron, meaning "thief of the tree" in Greek. While not a true  parasite, it comes close, sinking its roots into a host tree and leeching nutrients for photosynthesis. The translation of the word  mistletoe isn't romantic either.  Mistal means "dung" and  tan means "twig", so actually mistletoe means "dung on a twig".

Mistletoe contains a toxin that,  when consumed by humans, can cause blurred vision, nausea, abdominal pain, diarrhea, and even death. ALL parts of the mistletoe plant, including the berries, are poisonous. Eating one or two berries probably will not cause a huge problem for a child, but can cause death in your pet. If your child consumes mistletoe, it is a good idea to seek medical advice.

So there's the lowdown on the most common Christmas plants. If you think your child may have ingested a plant, call the Poison Control Center.

My gift to you is this instruction: RIGHT NOW. While you're thinking about it: Post the number for the National Poison Control Center on your refrigerator. Put it in your cell phone. Memorize it.
It is  800-222-1222. You're welcome, and Merry Christmas!

Taxation Without Representation

My daddy always said, "Security is the opposite of Freedom" and maybe he was right. His examples were a prisoner who is totally secure - fed, clothed, and with a bed - has no freedom. On the other hand, a homeless person, wandering the streets, is totally free, but has no security whatsoever.

I know these are extremes, but considering even my own choices, the concept seems to work very well.

In 2002, Cahaba Heights, then in Jefferson County, voted to become part of Vestavia Hills. Those of us who could see that we were giving up freedom for security (and property values) protested the annexation loud and clear. But we were outnumbered on voting day, and our quiet little community became the slums of Vestavia Hills. (The per capita income in Vestavia Hills is just over $52,000/year. The per capita income in Cahaba Heights is just over $28,000.)

Our property value did increase, but that comes into play only if one wants to sell her house. For those of us who DON'T want to leave their homes, the property taxes skyrocketed. In my case, my annual tax bill went from $99/year to over $1500/year. Quite a hefty increase for a retired person!

"But look," the proponents said, "You don't have to pay for garbage pickup ($15/month) anymore, and no more fire dues!" ($99/year)

For me, and many other residents, the tax burden is hard, but for the dozens of Mom & Pop businesses that had been in the community for 50-plus years, the business license burden was unbearable. In the second year of being Vestavia, most of those closed, leaving just a handful of them after 2004. Now there are only 2 left, and one of those is moving to Hoover soon. They just can't afford to stay in business here.

So, with that background in mind, consider what is happening now:

A certain developer wants to build a 4-story apartment complex adjacent to Cahaba Heights Elementary School, which will have shops on the first floor, and living spaces on the other 3 floors. As soon as this was on the City Council agenda, hundreds of (formerly) Cahaba Heights residents wrote, called, and emailed their councilpersons in protest. Including me.

Of the 8 councilpersons I emailed, I got no reply from 4 of them. Two of them replied, "Thank you for your input." One replied that there was no such building planned, OR on the council agenda to consider, and one was on vacation and automatically replied as such.

The day of the vote, City Hall was flooded with (formerly) Cahaba Heights residents, protesting the development. The school principle spoke against such a building on the school playground. Hundreds of students and their parents lined Highway 31 with signs and cards protesting the building. The council room was so crowded with protesters that people took turns moving in and out so everyone would have a chance to hear some of the proceedings, which lasted from about 5:30pm until almost 9:00pm.

There was no support from (formerly) Cahaba Heights residents, or from anyone else, other than the representatives of the development company wanting to build the apartments. Apparently the residents of our (formerly) quiet little community are having second thoughts about their "security". Hmmmm.

Well, around 9pm the City Council voted 6-2 to allow the 81-unit apartment to be build on the back of the Cahaba Heights Elementary School property, adjacent to the football field.

It seems like I remember that our country has already had issues with "taxation without representation". Now it comes home to (formerly) Cahaba Heights, which has no representatives on the City Council. Maybe it's time for another "tea party" over here in Vestavia Hills! Or maybe I'll run for City Council. At least I answer my emails.

Nobody Can Do It Alone

In August I attended a Congregational Health seminar that was so informative, interesting and uplifting that I want to share some of it with you.

The pervasive theme of the seminar was "You can't do it alone" - "it" being everything from work to worship. (This WAS a church-centered seminar, ya know). It made me think of when I was taking the training course, and the Debbie Duke said, "You will need a team for your health ministry. Even Jesus didn't do it alone. He had disciples."

But the repeating scripture reference was Mark 2:1-12, the story of Jesus healing the paralytic. One of the points of this story is that the paralyzed man couldn't come to Jesus alone. It required the work, ingenuity and faith of four of his friends.

So we were asked this question, and I ask you now: Do you have four friends who will "carry" you if and when you can't move? If you are "paralyzed" by loss of a job, death of a loved one, or other life-shattering event? Think about it. Are there four people in your life who will come get your children and care for them indefinitely when you have to go across the country to care for your mother? Four people who, when you need help moving, simply ask, "What time do you want me there?" Four people who will offer to pay your power and water bills when you're out of work and at the end of your savings? Four people who will stay at your bedside when you're sick and helpless? Four people who will give you their spare room when you lose your house? Four people who will "carry" you simply because they love you?

I asked the hard questions first, just to get you thinking. The easy question, of course, is: Do you have four friends who will carry you spiritually when you're paralyzed by fear, loss, helplessness, depression or sorrow? Four people who will pray for or with you when you're unsure where your next meal is coming from? Four people who will give you a list of doctors who specialize in your malady? Four people who will call a plumber for you when your toilet is clogged? Four people who will bring a covered dish when you lose a loved one?

I'm not a Bible scholar, as you well know by now, but I think this story probably has profound and concrete lessons for us, beyond the obvious and stated spiritual lesson that Jesus forgives us of our sins because of faith. In Mark's story, the infirm man was apparently paralyzed in all ways - physically, spiritually, emotionally. He couldn't move, AND and he didn't want to. "Y'all just go on without me," he probably moaned to his friends. "I don't want to be a burden."

In the story, the friends did not say, "Well, Don't worry. We will all pray for you, because we see you are helpless to help yourself." They did not go get him a pair of crutches and tell him, "We will help you get up on them, and you can follow us to where Jesus is teaching." They did not say, "You just lie there. We know you can't move. We will report back to you this evening, and tell you what Jesus said."

What they DID do was find a stretcher, heave him up onto it, physically tote him through the streets, up and down the hills, and through the (possibly) jeering crowds. Then, finding that it was impossible to get the man up to where Jesus was teaching, they found ropes, climbed up on the roof, heaved the paralytic strapped to the stretcher up onto the roof, dug a huge hole in the roof, and lowered him gently through the hole they dug, to a spot right in front of Jesus. As one speaker put it, "It was a real commitment to dig into some stranger's roof and make a man-sized hole in it. If they are wrong, they will be the biggest laughingstocks in town, and small towns have long memories. If Jesus disapproves of this at all, their paralyzed friend would be a helpless human pinata swinging in the living room of a stranger."

But none of that stopped them. Faith.  THAT is the kind of FRIENDSHIP I'm talking about. Are there four of those on your contact list? I know I have two, aside from family. That's a start.

But here's the REALLY most important question, and maybe the hardest: Are there four people who, if they were "paralyzed" you would, without question or hesitation, "carry" them? Are there four people you know and love enough to faithfully and quietly pay their power bill, do their laundry when their washer breaks down, feed their children and do their dishes, store their books, buy groceries for them, or let them live in your spare room? Thankfully, in the Bible story, it was because of the friends' faith, not the paralytic's, that Jesus granted forgiveness and healing.

Are YOU a friend with unfailing faith? Somebody needs you to be. Nobody can do it alone.

National Veterans Day History

National Veterans Day began in Birmingham, Alabama on November 11, 1947. Many people born and raised here don't know that, so I'm going to give you a brief history of NVD so you are aware of one of the WONDERFUL events that Birmingham enjoys.

President Woodrow Wilson first proclaimed Armistice Day for November 11, 1919. It was to honor and remember the brave warriors of WWI. Major hostilities of World War I were formally ended at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918, when the Armistice with Germany went into effect.

President Calvin Coolidge later  made the 11th of November in each year a legal holiday: "a day to be dedicated to the cause of world peace and to be thereafter celebrated and known as 'Armistice Day'." In Birmingham, every November 11, the World Peace luncheon is held, in honor of the original intent.

In 1945, World War II veteran Raymond Weeks from Birmingham, Alabama, had the idea to expand Armistice Day to celebrate all veterans, not just those who died in World War I. Weeks led a delegation to Gen. Dwight Eisenhower, who supported the idea of National Veterans Day. Weeks led the first national celebration in 1947 in Alabama and annually until his death in 1985. 

On May 26, 1954, President Dwight D. Eisenhower signed a bill establishing November 11 as a holiday into law. It had been eight and a half years since Weeks held his first Armistice Day celebration for all veterans in Birmingham.

Congress amended the bill on June 1, 1954, replacing "Armistice" with "Veterans," and it has been known as Veterans Day since.

In 1982, President Reagan honored Raymond Weeks at the White House, with the Presidential Citizenship Medal for being the driving force behind the national holiday. Elizabeth Dole, who prepared the briefing for President Reagan, determined Weeks as the "Father of Veterans Day."

Birmingham's Veterans Day parade is still the largest in the world. In Linn Park, at the northwest corner, is a memorial honoring Raymond Weeks, the founder of National Veterans Day, and every November 10, at 4:30p.m. there is a ceremonial wreath-laying at the Weeks Memorial. 

As an interesting sidenote, some people use an apostrophe in "Veterans", and it is acceptable to write "Veteran's" or "Veterans' ", but officially there is no apostrophe. It is not a day that belongs to veterans; It is a day for honoring all veterans.

Encounter with Birmingham's Finest

My friends know that I'm not a whiner. I'm not a victim. I am responsible for my own fate/circumstance.

Well, except for this situation in which I find myself with Officer Owens, a Birmingham Policeman, and I'm not sure how to handle it or what to do about it. I'll be as succinct as possible, but unless you know the circumstances surrounding it, you can't understand it. So here goes:

On February 7, while driving to Aaron's house to pick up his laptop, I ran over a fire hydrant that was lying in the road. It was old and rusty, so it probably fell off the back of a city truck. Anyway, it messed up the right front tire and wheel, and bounced off something under the car. I pulled into a driveway and onto the sidewalk in front of a house. (This was about the 4000 block of Clairmont Avenue.) I called Aaron to let him know I couldn't come for his laptop, but he brought it to me, along with his car, so I could get home after I handled MY car, and had a friend take him back home.

I pulled his car behind the fire hydrant that was still in the road, since I couldn't lift it, to be sure nobody else hit it. Leaving the car running, and the headlights and taillights and emergency flashers on, I call 911 for an accident report for my car. While waiting for the police, I called USAA to see about a tow, and to check benefits (repair, rental, etc.) As I'm chatting with the USAA rep, I see in the rear view mirror a car go through the 42nd Street light (about 3 blocks away) and barrel toward me. As it got closer, I realized the driver was oblivious to me, and wasn't slowing at all. I said to the USAA rep, "A car is coming, and it doesn't look like it's slowing." A few seconds later, I screamed into the phone, "OH SHIT! I'M GOING TO GET HIT!" and the car plowed into my rear so hard and fast that it knocked the shock absorbers and back wheels off the car.

Miraculously I was unhurt, except for being very shook up (and quite sore for a couple of weeks). The collision knocked the front of the car up onto the curb, and the other car was knocked up on the curb on the other side of the street. A girl (I would say mid-20s) wobbled out of the car and weaved across the street. "Are you ok?" she slurred. I assured her I was OK, and she got back into her car.

Since the police still hadn't responded to my call, I called them again. This time he came, approximately 10 minutes later. Parking behind me, he passed my winow and said, "I'll need to see your license and insurance information," and headed over to the other car.

About five minutes later, a firetruck and an ambulance arrived. Firemen and paramedics jumped out of their vehicles and came over to me with, "Are you hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital?" I said no. I was OK. So they went to the girl's car, loaded her on a stretcher, and took her away.

The policeman then came back to my car and asked what happened. I told him the whole story that I've just told you, and handed him my license and insurance card.

His first comment was, "Where did you hit the fire hydrant?"

I said, "Right back there. It was lying in the road."

He said, "It wasn't there an hour ago. Where was it when you hit it?"

I consulted my phone for the time of my first 911 call and said, "I hit it over an hour ago. It was lying in the road before that." (A while later, when neighbors started getting up and coming out to see, one man said, "See that oil spot back there? The hydrant had to have been in the road long enough for the oil to have leaked out of the top of it.")

He smirked and said, "I see you jumped the curb and hit that little tree over there."

I told him, "No. I didn't. I pulled into that driveway and onto the sidewalk."

"NO. YOU HIT THE TREE!" He repeated loudly, and walked over to the little tree and picked up a headlight on the ground. Carrying it over his head like Vulcan's torch, he marched over to the front of my car (on the sidewalk) and looked back and forth at the two headlights still on my car. Then he looked at the headlight in his hand, and again at the two on my car, as if he couldn't figure out where the third headlight was supposed to have been.

When he couldn't determine where the headlight had come from, but certainly not from my car, he returned to his car, and I called USAA back. I knew Aaron's car was a total loss, but mine looked repairable. USAA called a tow truck and gave me instructions about a rental.

The policeman finished whatever he was doing in his car, and came back over to where I was cleaning stuff out of Aaron's car and putting it in my car. It was now daylight.

He said, "I've called Weil for three wreckers. They will be here shortly." I told him USAA had already called a wrecker for my car.

"You HAVE to use Weil!" he said.

"NO. I DON'T." I said.

"OH YES YOU DO!"

"OH NO I DON'T!"

"WEIL IS GOING TO TOW YOUR CAR TO THE WEIL LOT!"

"NO. IT ISN'T. I HAVE A TOW TRUCK COMING!'

We were at a standoff, when three Weil trucks arrived. He told the closest driver, "Get that one first," indicating my car.

"No," I said. "I have another tow coming for THAT car."

The little policeman now looked like Rumplestilskin, hopping about and yelling. "YOU HAVE TO USE WEIL! AND BESIDES, YOU CAN'T LEAVE A CAR IN SOMEONE'S FRONT YARD ALL DAY! AND I CAN'T STAY HERE ALL DAY WAITING FOR SOME TOW TRUCK!"

About that time, the lady who lived there came outside, saw me and my friend (who I had called and who had arrived by then) and yelled, "What happened? How long have you been out here in the cold? You want to come inside and have some coffee and use my bathroom?" She also assured Officer Owens that my car could stay in her yard all weekend for all she cared.

The other two cars were being hooked up to tow trucks, and I asked for the other driver's name and insurance info, since she had left before I could ask her. Officer Owens snapped, "It will be on the accident report. You can get that in 72 hours," and then my tow truck arrived.

That's basically what happened. Although I don't have many interactions with policeman, (and aside from the fact that he was the ONLY person who came onto the scene that never once asked if I was OK), this was without a doubt the rudest bully I've ever encountered in law enforcement.

OKAY... so there's THAT. I depended on USAA to handle the cars, repair, rentals, etc... which they did.

Aaron's check for his car came, along with a letter that said, "This is payment in full, minus the $500 deductible."

Wait a minute. Why isn't this girl's insurance paying for his car? So I asked for a copy of the accident report, which USAA emailed to me immediately.

I couldn't believe what I read. The report was basically false. It said I called 911 at 0508 and that he arrived at 0512. I actually called at 0440 the first time, and 0456 the second time. I don't know what time he arrived, but it was a good 10 minutes after the second call. It said that I was "illegally parked in the road" (I wasn't parked at all). It said that the contributing factor was an "unseen object", with me ("Unit 1") being the contributing factor. (I saw her coming 3 blocks away. How could she NOT see me, lit up like 4th of July fireworks? Unless she was either drunk, asleep, or texting and not watching the road?). If I had been changing a flat tire, I would be DEAD. If I had been successful in moving the fire hydrant at the moment she came by, I would be DEAD. If Officer Owens had come when I called the first time, it would be HIS car that was hit, and probably we both would be dead.

Does anyone know what recourse I have about this?

OK. I'm finished. I think I'll contact Chief Roper about this anyway. He is serious about cleaning up the police department, and about deterring crime. And I think he needs to know about Officer Owens' unruly and ill-mannered behavior.

Prayer

You have heard the warning, "Be careful what you pray for." That's because God always answers prayers, but sometimes not in the way you had hoped. And He always answers in His time, not yours. And sometimes His answer is "NO."

Prayer has been part of my life for as long as I can remember - from the bedtime "Now I lay me down to sleep" to "Please, God, don't take him at Christmas." I pray every day, and usually many times a day. For me, prayer is a conversation with God. Over the years, my prayers have changed - or maybe they have just matured.

When I was a child, God was an imposing figure - a larger-than-imaginable man with a long white beard who was able to strike down bad people, but who always looked kindly on little children. Now I know God is all powerful, spiritual, loving, giving, and forgiving. And He wants to hear our desires and needs. But we don't have the whole universal picture, and never will. Only God does. And we're not alone down here on earth, either. There are other people down here with us, and as much as I sometimes have my doubts, all those people are God's children, and He loves them. It's good that He does, because some of them aren't very loveable at all.

Now, more and more frequently, I find myself waking up in the morning with, "Thank you, Lord, for giving me another day in this wonderful world. Please keep me safe today." And as the day progresses, there are lots of little conversations - as if I'm talking with a friend. "Lord, thank you for this food. Let it fuel me to make it through the day." "Lord, please hold my hand and cover my mouth." "God, help me know what You want me to do here, because I'm at a loss." "Lord, I need your guidance. I don't know which way to go." "Lord God, give me patience to deal with this traffic in a Christian way." and usually ending the day with something like  "Dear Lord, thank You for all my blessings. Thank You for walking with me today. If You want me to continue, please give me another tomorrow. And most of all Lord, stay with me, guide me, and know that I love You."

I laughed when they outlawed prayer in school. What a joke! Did they really think a law could put a stop to my communication with God? How can anyone really, truly prevent someone else from praying? To this day, I don't understand the concept there. They can prevent Bible reading aloud. But they can't prevent the human brain from thinking, "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want..." I can't remember very many times I sat down to take a test that I didn't say, "Lord, be with me and guide my pen." I was a pretty good student, but I figured you can't be too careful, so just in case...

OK, I admit that most of my prayers are selfish. Sometimes not, though. There are the prayers for panhandlers or politicians: "Lord, bless her. She needs a blessing BADLY." There are prayers for friends and family: "God, take him in Your loving arms and help him through this. Wipe his tears, and strengthen and comfort him." And prayers for my children: "Lord, You know I did the best I could raising him. I love him more than only You can know, and I know You love him too. Now, all I can do is relinquish his care to You. Please hold him in Your arms, like I did for so many years, and keep him safe."

God has seldom told me NO. But  He HAS has put me places I didn't want to be. He has kept me from places I DID want to be. He has tested me many times in uncomfortable ways, and He has put people and obstacles in my path that I have stumbled over, and occasionally I have fallen. But He has never left me down there. He has always offered His strong hand to help me pull back up.

Don't misunderstand me here, though... There have been times in my life that I have doubted God. There have been times I have even doubted His very existence. I have been angry at Him. I have yelled at Him, and questioned His decisions and actions. Directly and loudly. I don't know for sure, but I think when I get that way, God probably waits patiently and quietly for me to calm down, settle down, and come back to Him, kinda like a wise and loving Father with a wayward and sassy daughter.

I'm happy to report it has been many, many years since I doubted Him.... not so many since I've been angry. But God is all-knowing and all-powerful, and He lovingly and patiently tolerates my stupid little tantrums. At least I hope He does, since I'm human, and have human emotions.

Today is Christmas. The day we celebrate as the time God gifted us his Son in human flesh and blood. Now, over 2000 years later, we gather our own families and friends around us in love and companionship and happiness. Oh yes, we put up Christmas trees, and we sing Santa songs, and we hang stockings. We give each other gifts. Theoretically gifts symbolize the gifts of the Magi to the baby Jesus, or even symbolize God's gift to us of Jesus. Now, I have no illusions about that. I know there are people celebrate Christmas as merely a opportunity to score toys and stuff. But that's all I have to say about that.

This morning, I was blown away by Mark and Michelle's gift to their friends and family. In fact, I teared up when I opened the little envelope and read the card that said, "A gift to Heifer International in your honor will provide the resources to help smallholder farmers increase their income so that they can feed their families nutritious meals every day, send their children to school, and light their way to a better future." What a thoughtful and meaningful gift!  (Last Saturday, they gave a donation to the Birmingham Humane Society in honor of Aaron and Britt.) And then Mark cooked breakfast for us. I can't remember a more warm and wonderful Christmas morning. (I know it's Michelle's influence. Again, I have no illusions LOL). Thank you, God, for bringing Michelle into our lives. She is a blessing - not only to Mark, but to our family.

Aaron and Britt were in Indiana with Bobbie and Steve and the rest of Britt's family. There's another blessing, (Thank you, Lord. You seem to know what we need!) and I had already prayed for traveling mercy for them.

And then, this afternoon, my phone rang. I saw it was Aaron, and answered with a cheerful, "Merry Christmas! Are y'all having a great time?"

"No. I'm not."

"Oh, Aaron! What's wrong? Is everyone all right?"

"Oh, Mom, Coda is dead." and he moaned in despair and pain.

Aaron's words still echo in my head. Their dear, sweet, loving, happy Coda dog had been hit by a car. I can't express in words the grief and anguish I feel for Aaron and Britt. And my own selfish helplessness and distress at the loss of my precious Grandpuppy.

It was a stupid accident... basically an unavoidable accident, unless Coda had been kept in a cage or on a chain. And in his short life, he never knew anything  but being hugged and loved by Aaron and Britt. He didn't know desertion or cold or hunger. Coda never heard a loud or unkind word. Even Aaron's reprimands were gentle and loving. "Coda, we don't pee in the house. Understand? That is a no-no." "Coda, Buddy... see that garbage can? We don't pull things out of it. Getting in the garbage is a no-no. Understand? Coda, Look at me. Understand?"

So a perfect morning turned into a tragic afternoon. Coda was truly a part of our family. and sadly, MORE a part of our family than some real family members are.

Dear Lord, I know you have your reasons, but for the life of me, I don't understand this. Maybe I never will. I know Coda's sweet spirit is in doggy heaven, because I can't fathom such a loving spirit being anywhere but playing with squirrels and butterflies over the Rainbow Bridge. So here is my prayer, my sincere desire, my deepest need right now: I need You to be with my dear son and his beautiful wife. Now, more than at any moment in the past, they need peace. They need courage to get through the next few days and weeks, so give them courage. Give them comfort. I believe with your help, they can lean on each other, depend on each other, comfort each other, and help each other work through the unbearable grief and loss they both feel. Only You can perform this miracle, and we need a miracle now.

Amen.