Whoopie Pies and Lobster
Monday, August 6, 2012
Being Poor
I was reading a post about being newly poor, by SereneBabe, and boy do I know the feeling!
It inspired me to do a little research on the shame associated with being poor. I found this 2005 blog post, "Being Poor," by writer John Scalzi.
I was a single mother for years, and I learned a lot about how to juggle finances while on a secretary's salary. The biggest expense, aside from rent, was daycare. I had a roommate to cut down on my rent cost, but any crisis, like an unexpected car repair, was devastating.
One time, my car broke down twice within two weeks, and the only credit card I had at my disposal was an American Express Card. At that time, you had to pay AMEX off in full every month, but I needed my car to get to work. To make extra money, I took a job at Burger King on weekends. My sister baby sat for me on Saturday and Sunday while I schlepped frozen burgers onto the flame broiler and asked people "do you want fries with that?" I came home stinking of old ketchup, exhausted from being on my feet all day. But I did it, because I thought if I just worked hard enough, the crushing weight of my credit card debt would eventually disappear.
This lasted about a month, until I was hospitalized due to a severe infection. Eventually, I filed bankruptcy. That was years ago, and I don't use credit cards anymore. Cash only. If I have to buy something online or pay a bill using a debit card, I load money onto a pre-paid VISA card. Triple A (if you are a member, and they have saved my butt many a time when I've locked my keys in my car or gotten stuck in winter) offers a pre-paid VISA card with a one-time purchase fee of $5.00; after that, there is no fee to load money, as there is with a Greendot card. The only stricture is that you have to load $100 at a time, so if you can swing that, you will save yourself fees in the long run.
By the way, Maine is one state that allows you to make monthly car insurance payments, so if you switch to Triple A, you might save yourself having to come up with a huge car insurance payment every 6 months. Yes, there are fees involved, but you pay for 5 months and then the 6 month there is no payment. The benefit to someone living paycheck to paycheck is that you can budget your car insurance premium easier by paying it monthly. There may be cheaper car insurance out there, but Triple A has a great customer service crew, and I can stop in and pay my premium on the way to doing errands. That's how I found out about the pre-paid VISA card. Thanks, Triple A!
A lot of our fellow Mainers are feeling the pain of the recession, including my husband, who has been underemployed or unemployed since 2008.
What are the ways through the maze of being poor? Do you ever come out of it? I say yes, it's possible, but in the meantime, how about some tips on how to survive? Note: these comments are not directed at SereneBabe, but to anyone in general who has experienced a sudden devastating loss of income.
First of all, stop beating yourself up for being poor. If you are really struggling with this, call the Warm Line and talk to someone. Not only will they listen, they can point you toward resources. Also, 211, in case you didn't know about it.
Prioritize: my list goes like this: Food and Shelter. Everything else comes in a distant third to food and shelter. Got these? No? Then apply for food stamps if you haven't already. Seek out your local food bank and find out the days and hours. If you are unemployed and feel guilty about getting food from a food bank, volunteer for them. I've known people who have gotten jobs by volunteering at various places, including food shelters. The more you get out there and talk to people, the more you will realize that a lot of people are struggling, and there are very many warm and wonderful folks in Maine who are willing to help.
Shelter: if you think you will have trouble meeting your rent, talk to your landlord early. Sometimes they will work out a deal with you to pay a smaller portion of your rent one month and pay the rest over time (don't do this unless you know you can meet the obligation, of course). If you run into issues with your landlord, read up on your rights here.
I can't address issues of paying a mortgage in this blog entry, but I did help research and write a book on it. If you can't afford the book, drop me a comment and I'll see if I can get you a copy (I have a few laying around). It may be a bit outdated, as I haven't kept up with the new laws and programs out there, but it still is a good primer on what to do when you're face with not being able to pay your mortgage, including a fantastic glossary (which I didn't write, but I admire the person who did!).
Got your food and shelter lined up? Good.
What about utilities? First of all, many companies will work out payment plans. If you know you're going to get unemployment, or the check will come later in the month, call them up and work out a payment plan. If you are really in dire straits, now is the time to apply to LIHEAP (heating oil assistance) and LIAP (electric bill assistance). You may be eligible to apply to LIHEAP even if you rent and heat is included in your rent. Applications are accepted starting August 1st, so do it now.
There are other resources out there, if you just keep asking and making phone calls, you will find them (and I will post them as I find out about them, as not all of them are listed on the government websites). It is frustrating and yes, embarrassing, to ask for help, especially if you have been making a decent income and find yourself in the shocking position of hunting for change in the couch cushions to buy a gallon of gas to get you to the grocery store. There is a lot of shaming going around, especially in this year of elections. Don't ever listen to anyone who tells you that it is shameful to be poor and to want to feed yourself and your children. They are the ones who should be ashamed.
Next up, some fun things to do on a budget. Because you have to feed your soul if you are going to get through the recession in one piece.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
The Kitten Song
The Kitten Song
I am a little kitten and I run around the room,
I scatter all your playing cards! I skid and quickly zoom!
Your chicken on the counter is my favorite delight,
And if you try to rest your head I'll scratch your bed at night,
When I've worn you out and put your curtains in a mess,
I'll look up at your hairless face and happily confess:
Eat, Play, Sleep! Yes, that is all I ever do!
Eat, Play, Sleep! In case you haven't got a clue!
Eat, Play, Sleep! It's what my life is all about!
Eat, Play, Sleep! That is my job there is no doubt!
My litter box needs scooping and my hair is on your shirt,
If you haven't got the message on the floor I'll leave a squirt,
The table is my bed and your silk dresses are my ride,
I'll climb them in an instant and leave pinholes in the side,
Eat, Play, Sleep! Yes, that is all I ever do!
Eat, Play, Sleep! In case you haven't got a clue!
Eat, Play, Sleep! It's what my life is all about!
Eat, Play, Sleep! That is my job there is no doubt!
The food bowl is a messy spot because I crunch it really fast,
You better keep it full or I'll make sure it doesn't last,
The sink is my cool resting spot so keep it very clean,
Cause if you don't I'll leave a gift that's smelt before it's seen,
Eat, Play, Sleep! Yes, that is all I ever do!
Eat, Play, Sleep! In case you haven't got a clue!
Eat, Play, Sleep! It's what my life is all about!
Eat, Play, Sleep! That is my job there is no doubt!
I am your little buddy and my fur is there to pet,
Ah yes just there behind my ears where I just licked it and it's wet,
Don't you touch my belly or I'll scratch you with my claws,
But if you throw a paper ball I'll bat it with my paws,
And now my song is ended 'cause it's time to take a rest,
I am the household ruler and I agree I am the best!
Eat, Play, Sleep! Yes, that is all I ever do!
Eat, Play, Sleep! In case you haven't got a clue!
Eat, Play, Sleep! It's what my life is all about!
Eat, Play, Sleep! That is my job there is no doubt!
Copyright 2012 Marie Monteux
Friday, July 27, 2012
My Darling Wife
A while back, I was at a local flea market, and I chanced upon a stack of ephemera. I think it cost about $12 for the whole pile. Later, I began going through it and realized it was letters and diaries from a family in Maine, including wedding photos and sundries like old sewing needles.
The earliest letter dates from 1893. It is a letter from a Mr. Harry Taggart, who was living in Meriden, Connecticut. His wife was apparently residing in Saco, Maine at the time and I'll leave it to you to piece together why they were apart.
Having nothing better to do on a hazy Friday afternoon, I decided to scan it in and share it with you all. The transcription follows:
Adam Orr
Dealer in
Prime Meats, Poultry, Game, Hams, Vegetables, Etc.
8 Colony Street
Meriden, Conn. ___16th Febry, 1983
My Darling Wife,
You see by the date when I started to answer your letter -- well, that was yesterday, and that was all the length I got. David Milne came in and stayed till about supper time and that settled the letter writing business for that day. Mr. Orr had some company to supper, so I saw it was of no use to try and get a letter posted to you last night, and as it is only shortly after seven A.M. I can write you without much disturbance.
By the way before going further, how is it that from the date of your last letter till their reaching me, there are all ways three days. Your letter was dated the 12th and I did not get it till Wednesday. I cannot tell you how bad I felt not getting a letter Monday, then all day Tuesday and still no letter.
Well dearest and best, you talk very strangely about my being sorry about what is but right and natural. May, my darling girl you don't know me, when you talk like that and you ask me to try and feel pleased. Words fail me when I try to express my feelings when reading those few lines. A thrill of Joy, went through me, and my darling girl, I felt as if I loved you a thousand times better than ever, if that were possible.
You lift me up with one hand, and knock me down with the other, turning the next page, you commence to wonder where the money is coming from etc. etc. May I am surprised at you, who are a good Christian girl talking like that about putting love aside, and waiting for a while, and so on.
Did you ever hear the old Scotch saying, "Marry for love and work for sillar," (money). Now May my sweet pet. If you know the thoughts I have had since getting your letter you would not feel blue and have these thoughts. If any stimulous were needed to make me feel a man and a husband's responsibility I have it now. But leaving that aside I know in my heart that I have got a a whole souled, good living, sensible girl for a wife and I know it, and May you have put ambition in me that I thought I had almost lost.
You see dearest it is this way. If you had not married me, and kept waiting, and the knowledge that after all I might not win you, it would have been entirely different, now I get down on my knees every night and ask God to bless my darling wife, now because that pleasure is mine by right of effect on my sense so soothing that I can put my head on my pillow with a clear conscience.
And each night now that I have not my dearest Molly to fondle and caress, I go over in my mind the days proceeding. And dear is is an exceptional day when my conscience tells me I have done something to regret. No. My sweetheart I am doing my best to live a sober and upright life and better still am succeeding and all through my love for you and God's help.
You would scarcely know me now, you old flub-dub. I have changed so much for the better in appearance since you left me. May you must have been hugging me too tightly. Malni was saying yesterday he never saw me looking so well, and I know that what he says is true this time at least. Am in the enjoyment of excellent health. We breakfast at six, dinner at twelve and supper about 6:30, and what with regular habits, good "vittles" and exercise, I am tip top.
So my sweetheart is a little nervous and thinking of what is before you makes you feel bad. Well Molly I do not wonder but try to look on the bright side of it. I will be doing well by that time I feel certain and just think dear how happy we could be if it is the Almighty's will that we should be so blessed.
Did you ever hear the song, "Cleansing Fires." The refrain is, "for as gold must be tried by fire, so the heart must be tried by pain." I will sing it for you sometime. Had a nice letter from my brother George yesterday, which I enclose for your perusal, you might give it to Maggie and let her read it some time when she wants. Have a letter written for her which I will post along with this.
Mr. Howell sent me a paper (journal) with account of the "Keeling" banquet, too. Wrote him a good letter some days ago. Am looking after another church position the up town Baptist.
Had an interview with E. Miller Jumer of the E. Miller Co. and they want a Bass, one who is competent to take charge, Duncan put me up to it. Mr. Miller has a big say in the matter, he is quite a musician himself. Was round most of the shop again, business is looking up a little and is expected to be good very soon now.
Don't you want to come back to me? Just as soon as I get a good job. I will tell you my plans. You of course must think of Meriden as your home, as although it is pretty bad for me here just now, I can see plainly now that I can get on well through time.
John must be in a fair way of recovery now, but must have had a very severe shaking up and poor Deb what a turn she must have had. I don't wonder her feet gave out. Was at Dan Duncan's at a little party on Wednesday eve. We had a splendid little time got home after twelve. The Scotts and Morrisons were there and although you don't know them I think, they have heard you sing and were wishing you were back again. You ought to have heard Mr. Malni sing the "cows are in the clover." !
If I had a dozen copies of that song how I could sell them easily, could you not get a copy if it is from Alan, Darling? Try to get a copy of it, dear. By the way Mr. Hall still has my copy of "Sweet Dorabella" this trio we sang at Trinity. You might call and ask him for it, and send it on to me. It is too good to loose. Does Hen sing any now? He should try and get in some choir for practice. Now sweetheart write soon and give me all the news and I will reply right away.
Will finish now, with a heartfull of love and kisses innumerable believe me.
Your ever loving husband,
Harry.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Courage!
So my husband found a job. It's not a great job, but he goes every day and toughs it out. Despite his arthritic back and his hip implants, he does not complain. I'm talking handicap placard, his doctor got that for him right away several years ago, as he does not want him straining his hip implants by walking too far.
He called me out of the blue today.
"You are not going to believe this, but I was sitting here wishing for a better job, and all of a sudden my phone rang. It was the head manager of a company that I applied to three weeks ago. They want to interview me tonight after I get out of work!"
He rushed home, and I dolled him up in some nice black slacks, from his suit (as they said no tie required), a white dress shirt, brand new dress socks, black dress shoes, and some Soul cologne.
"Just a bit goes a long way," I advised.
Then he was nice enough to stop and get more cat treats, as Chloe the Wonder Kitten, now a grown Cat, was bugging moi for gravy food. And Max, whom I call "Maxwell Smart," is getting quite large now. He is half Maine Coon, from a breeder, and has short hair and a raccoon-like ring tail. I can see why Marie Antoinette would want to save her cats over her own person. He is a fine specimen. And my buddy. Max knows Calculus.
Sometimes all it takes is to light a candle to push away the Dark Shadows. I know he will do fine, as he is highly motivated to get out of his current position, and well, he finally listened to his wife on how to dress properly for interviews. Only took 6 years!
His favorite t-shirt reads, "Who Cares About Status?" That's what Rob is all about: being yourself, and going with the flow. Eventually, he will re-build his hypnosis and creativity coaching business, which took a huge downturn in 2008. He already has some clients in the pipeline. They are coming to him, now. He also has a wonderful phone voice, and has helped my friends for free over the phone many times. He is taking a limited amount of new clients right now, due to his busy schedule, but feel free to give him a jingle at:
+207-441-0266
Leave a message, as he does not answer his phone due to all the sales people calling him and trying to sell him products for his business. Or you can drop me a note at mariemonteux _at_ gmail _dot_ com, and I will make sure he gets it as soon as he has some free time.
Wish him luck tonight! He really wants this new job! They are originally farmers from Maine, as were a lot of my ancestors. So they must be all right, because:
"No Farms, No food." Even vegetarians have to agree on that point.
He called me out of the blue today.
"You are not going to believe this, but I was sitting here wishing for a better job, and all of a sudden my phone rang. It was the head manager of a company that I applied to three weeks ago. They want to interview me tonight after I get out of work!"
He rushed home, and I dolled him up in some nice black slacks, from his suit (as they said no tie required), a white dress shirt, brand new dress socks, black dress shoes, and some Soul cologne.
"Just a bit goes a long way," I advised.
Then he was nice enough to stop and get more cat treats, as Chloe the Wonder Kitten, now a grown Cat, was bugging moi for gravy food. And Max, whom I call "Maxwell Smart," is getting quite large now. He is half Maine Coon, from a breeder, and has short hair and a raccoon-like ring tail. I can see why Marie Antoinette would want to save her cats over her own person. He is a fine specimen. And my buddy. Max knows Calculus.
Sometimes all it takes is to light a candle to push away the Dark Shadows. I know he will do fine, as he is highly motivated to get out of his current position, and well, he finally listened to his wife on how to dress properly for interviews. Only took 6 years!
His favorite t-shirt reads, "Who Cares About Status?" That's what Rob is all about: being yourself, and going with the flow. Eventually, he will re-build his hypnosis and creativity coaching business, which took a huge downturn in 2008. He already has some clients in the pipeline. They are coming to him, now. He also has a wonderful phone voice, and has helped my friends for free over the phone many times. He is taking a limited amount of new clients right now, due to his busy schedule, but feel free to give him a jingle at:
+207-441-0266
Leave a message, as he does not answer his phone due to all the sales people calling him and trying to sell him products for his business. Or you can drop me a note at mariemonteux _at_ gmail _dot_ com, and I will make sure he gets it as soon as he has some free time.
Wish him luck tonight! He really wants this new job! They are originally farmers from Maine, as were a lot of my ancestors. So they must be all right, because:
"No Farms, No food." Even vegetarians have to agree on that point.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Ambition, meet Reality
Apologies for not keeping up with my new blog. The past month has been, shall we say, a tad stressful.
I won't go into too many gory details, but I wouldn't wish this kind of stress on anyone. Well, maybe a bit on one of my ex's, who deserves everything he "gave" me back in spades, but not on most people, including you, Gentle Reader.
My husband, Rob, lost his job recently. Rob has a tendency toward Vitamin D deficiency, and living in Maine makes it ten times worse. He went into the hospital, and they put him in the psych ward (!) due to being depressed. Fortunately, the doctor checked his vitamin levels, and discovered that not only did he have a severe Vitamin D deficiency, he also had severe lack of B12. The doc gave him a shot of B12, told him to take more D, and advised him to follow up with a GP.
Well, we lost our self-paid health insurance, due to lack of income. It was one of those plans that costs $200 a month, and you get catastrophic coverage, with a nifty $7,500 deductible for hospital visits, but if you get say, a severe condition that costs up to $1 million dollars, this is the plan for you. Two check-ups per year, and some minimal dental care. So losing it wasn't that huge of a deal, and Rob was able to apply for some sort of healthcare through the hospital system here in Maine.
We went to the doctor, and while his D & B levels were both 31 in a range of 30-100, this doctor, who is new to us, proceeded to tell Rob that he didn't think his depressive symptoms were entirely related to a vitamin deficiency. "Would you be interested in some anti-depressants?" he asked.
Rob and I looked at each other. We'd both been down this road before, only not with a doctor, but a relative, who thought he needed Prozac, and when I protested, I was told off in no uncertain terms and accused of being Rob's "real problem." WHO needs Prozac? Please. Fuck off. See, Rob had had this Vitamin D problem before, and had been prescribed 50,000 IU's of Vitamin D, to be taken weekly for eight weeks, plus 2,500 IU's over the counter per day. It pretty much cured him, along with being out in the sun, as he got struck down in February or March, and by the time the high-dose of Vitamin D kicked in, he was able to go out in the sun and sit with his shirt off and get the Sunshine Vitamin the good old-fashioned way.
But his controlling relative decided, based on a short and nasty interrogation, that Rob should go on anti-depressants and ditch his wife (that would be me, who told Rob to get his Vitamin D levels checked in the first place, and I was right, according to the doctor and the blood test results). This is a relative who never calls, doesn't visit, and has a tendency toward paranoia and screaming attacks on my husband over the telephone. Rob doesn't talk to them anymore. He's pretty much done, and so am I. Life is too short to put up with that kind of crap from anyone, let alone a relative whose only interaction with you consists of snap judgments, wild accusations, and verbal abuse. It's sad, but that's the way it has to be if we want any peace in our lives. Anyway, the Vitamin D and sunshine turned Rob around last time. I'd been nagging Rob to take his vitamins all winter, but moving, etc., he forgot, I forgot, and by the time it got really bad, there he was, in the hospital again. It's insidious, because it mimics depression, and if you have any stressors in your life, you tend to chalk it up to those, when the D & B12 deficiency actually contribute to the stressors, making them more difficult to deal with because you can't think straight! If he'd taken Prozac, I can't begin to imagine what kind of health issues he'd have come down with due to lack of Vitamin D. It's pretty important for a lot of things going on in your body.
We both love Maine, but this made us question living here year round. I mean, it's great to say you have suffered through yet another Maine winter. It makes you tougher, and more appreciative of the lovely Spring and Summer. Maine, the Way Life Should Be (in the summer, when the weather is great and the rest of the country is suffering from severe storms, drought, and grueling high temperatures). For now, however, we are locked into a lease until next Spring, so here we are. I hope to be able to take him to Florida, or anywhere sunny, next February, to get him a booster shot of sunshine. Maybe that will keep him from going under again, because it's not pretty, and I worry about his health. He's almost 60, and has been through colon cancer surgery, and Vitamin D is very necessary for human health. I'd like to keep him around a while.
The doctor didn't push the Prozac once he realized that Rob wasn't going for his spiel. He agreed to give him another B12 shot, a month after the one he'd had two weeks prior in the hospital. Then the doctor told him not to take too much Vitamin D, because his levels weren't really "that low." We left, both shaking our heads at the disparity between his prior doctor's advice (50,000 IU's a WEEK) and this guy's nonchalant attitude of "it's all in your head because I said so."
People: you have to advocate for your own health nowadays. Yes, Googling your symptoms doesn't make you a doctor, but listening blindly to a doctor doesn't always benefit your long-term health, either.
That's just part of why I haven't been writing my intended posts about Cumston Hall, the lovely local wineries we visited on Mother's Day, and a few other neat places to visit here in Maine. Instead, I've been dealing with my husband's health issues, my own issues relating to my mother's death last year, Rob's father's death (also last year), and being back in "the system," as we call it here in Maine. It sucks. Reality bites sometimes.
But I made a promise to my husband: last year, as we stood at my mother's grave site, watching her urn being buried in the cold November ground, less than two months after we spread his dad's ashes in Taunton Bay, my husband started to cry. I put my arm around him and hugged him tightly.
"No more funerals," he sobbed. "I can't take anymore."
"No more funerals," I promised.
This Saturday, June 9, 2012, we are going to stand before some of my (very nice and friendly) relatives, and any friends who chose to join us, and renew our love for each other. It's going to be short and sweet, not even a minister (as we are already married and don't need someone else to guide our love for each other). Right now he's out applying for more jobs; at almost age 60, even with an MBA, he is discouraged, but willing to take anything within his physical capabilities. Rob has two hip implants, so he has trouble doing anything that requires standing for long periods of time. He can do office jobs, but sitting also bothers his hips, and makes his lower back ache. He doesn't complain very much, but I know it hurts him. He can't even bend down to tie his shoes, and I have to clip his toenails for him. He tried to go back and see about getting his left hip operated on, as initially it had to be replaced three times: the first time it got infected, the second there was an issue with the rod they inserted into his thighbone, and the third time, they said, "you're good to go!" Even though he wasn't good to go. He had pain, stiffness, and lack of flexibility in his left hip. He finally went back to the doctor, who said, "well, your insurance (this was when we had insurance) won't pay for it. It's considered elective surgery." Rob got sent to physical therapy, which didn't do squat. He's considering applying for disability, something he's avoided for years, because he has come to realize that he needs more intense medical care than he's been receiving in recent years, which is about nil. He has to walk with a cane a lot, and having been in a physical occupation for much of his youth (ballet dancer), I can't imagine how difficult it must be to not be able to do simple things like tie one's own shoes or clip one's own toenails. This is Rob when he worked for the Ballet Met in Columbus, Ohio:
He always puts himself down. "I was too fat for a ballet dancer, and I wasn't very good." I beg to differ, because he danced in France for years, and was Principle in more than one company. But I guess in the dance world, like the theater world, cattiness abounds. He was gorgeous, n'est pas?
Still, he suffers in silence, always putting forward a cheerful face. Until he came down with the vitamin deficiency again. His former job consisted of working as a 1099 contractor for a company that promised him a lot of hours. When they didn't deliver, he requested more hours, and was promised such. When THAT didn't happen, he asked again. When he got out of the hospital, he asked them to advance a few hundred from his next paycheck.
"Sorry, we don't do that for contractors," he was told. This was after having sunshine blown up his ass for two months to the tune of "you're so great, we will definitely be giving you more hours, and we want you to mentor our new employees," blah, blah, blah, blah. Show me the money, assholes. Don't blow sunshine up my husband's butt, because we've both heard it all before: "be our wage slaves, with zero benefits, but when the chips are down and you need us, buh-bye now."
Rob told them he couldn't afford to live on $200-$250 a week. Their response: "Feel free to re-apply in the future." Then they paid him less than he was due, because due to his Vitamin D & B12 fogged brain, he had neglected to log some of the work he'd done for them, even though Rob knew he'd done it, and THEY knew he'd done it. Bully for them. You've just lost the best employee you could have lifted up, you bastards. That's my husband you pushed aside, not some turn-em-and-burn-em doormat who's going to slink off into the shadows and lie down with his belly up, waiting for the next avaricious employer to blow sunshine up his butt with false promises. That's my husband you did that to, with your cold inhuman attitude. I don't even have to wish your business will fail, because you have already failed in the human department, and that attitude will seep into every one of your business interactions: with your employees, and ultimately, through them, to your customers. Good luck running a company that way in today's market. Good fucking luck.
Now, onto happier things: if you want to join us for a very casual wedding renewal party, and some good company and good cheer shortly afterward, contact me via mariemonteux _at_ gmail.com. RSVP, as they say, so I know how much food to set out. BYOB, as we can't presently afford to stock a full bar for guests. A dish to pass or a dessert would be welcome. In any case, we will be here, holding hands, celebrating our love for each other, our triumph over adversity, and how we are still together despite our troubles. 1:00 p.m., Saturday, June 9, 2012, Monmouth, Maine, Red Top, which is the name of our house on Lake Annabessacook.
Because I promised: no more funerals. Maybe I can't keep that one forever, but for one day, a lovely June day in Maine, this will be "the way life should be." For my husband, Rob, the love of my life, my friend, my lover, and partner in imaginary heinous crimes against wanna-be poser business owners. I will be dressed as the Fairy Queen, and Rob will be The Most Interesting Man in the World. Because he is the most interesting man in the world, to me.
Red Solo Cup. I lift you up. Let's have a party, proceed to party!
I won't go into too many gory details, but I wouldn't wish this kind of stress on anyone. Well, maybe a bit on one of my ex's, who deserves everything he "gave" me back in spades, but not on most people, including you, Gentle Reader.
My husband, Rob, lost his job recently. Rob has a tendency toward Vitamin D deficiency, and living in Maine makes it ten times worse. He went into the hospital, and they put him in the psych ward (!) due to being depressed. Fortunately, the doctor checked his vitamin levels, and discovered that not only did he have a severe Vitamin D deficiency, he also had severe lack of B12. The doc gave him a shot of B12, told him to take more D, and advised him to follow up with a GP.
Well, we lost our self-paid health insurance, due to lack of income. It was one of those plans that costs $200 a month, and you get catastrophic coverage, with a nifty $7,500 deductible for hospital visits, but if you get say, a severe condition that costs up to $1 million dollars, this is the plan for you. Two check-ups per year, and some minimal dental care. So losing it wasn't that huge of a deal, and Rob was able to apply for some sort of healthcare through the hospital system here in Maine.
We went to the doctor, and while his D & B levels were both 31 in a range of 30-100, this doctor, who is new to us, proceeded to tell Rob that he didn't think his depressive symptoms were entirely related to a vitamin deficiency. "Would you be interested in some anti-depressants?" he asked.
Rob and I looked at each other. We'd both been down this road before, only not with a doctor, but a relative, who thought he needed Prozac, and when I protested, I was told off in no uncertain terms and accused of being Rob's "real problem." WHO needs Prozac? Please. Fuck off. See, Rob had had this Vitamin D problem before, and had been prescribed 50,000 IU's of Vitamin D, to be taken weekly for eight weeks, plus 2,500 IU's over the counter per day. It pretty much cured him, along with being out in the sun, as he got struck down in February or March, and by the time the high-dose of Vitamin D kicked in, he was able to go out in the sun and sit with his shirt off and get the Sunshine Vitamin the good old-fashioned way.
But his controlling relative decided, based on a short and nasty interrogation, that Rob should go on anti-depressants and ditch his wife (that would be me, who told Rob to get his Vitamin D levels checked in the first place, and I was right, according to the doctor and the blood test results). This is a relative who never calls, doesn't visit, and has a tendency toward paranoia and screaming attacks on my husband over the telephone. Rob doesn't talk to them anymore. He's pretty much done, and so am I. Life is too short to put up with that kind of crap from anyone, let alone a relative whose only interaction with you consists of snap judgments, wild accusations, and verbal abuse. It's sad, but that's the way it has to be if we want any peace in our lives. Anyway, the Vitamin D and sunshine turned Rob around last time. I'd been nagging Rob to take his vitamins all winter, but moving, etc., he forgot, I forgot, and by the time it got really bad, there he was, in the hospital again. It's insidious, because it mimics depression, and if you have any stressors in your life, you tend to chalk it up to those, when the D & B12 deficiency actually contribute to the stressors, making them more difficult to deal with because you can't think straight! If he'd taken Prozac, I can't begin to imagine what kind of health issues he'd have come down with due to lack of Vitamin D. It's pretty important for a lot of things going on in your body.
We both love Maine, but this made us question living here year round. I mean, it's great to say you have suffered through yet another Maine winter. It makes you tougher, and more appreciative of the lovely Spring and Summer. Maine, the Way Life Should Be (in the summer, when the weather is great and the rest of the country is suffering from severe storms, drought, and grueling high temperatures). For now, however, we are locked into a lease until next Spring, so here we are. I hope to be able to take him to Florida, or anywhere sunny, next February, to get him a booster shot of sunshine. Maybe that will keep him from going under again, because it's not pretty, and I worry about his health. He's almost 60, and has been through colon cancer surgery, and Vitamin D is very necessary for human health. I'd like to keep him around a while.
The doctor didn't push the Prozac once he realized that Rob wasn't going for his spiel. He agreed to give him another B12 shot, a month after the one he'd had two weeks prior in the hospital. Then the doctor told him not to take too much Vitamin D, because his levels weren't really "that low." We left, both shaking our heads at the disparity between his prior doctor's advice (50,000 IU's a WEEK) and this guy's nonchalant attitude of "it's all in your head because I said so."
People: you have to advocate for your own health nowadays. Yes, Googling your symptoms doesn't make you a doctor, but listening blindly to a doctor doesn't always benefit your long-term health, either.
That's just part of why I haven't been writing my intended posts about Cumston Hall, the lovely local wineries we visited on Mother's Day, and a few other neat places to visit here in Maine. Instead, I've been dealing with my husband's health issues, my own issues relating to my mother's death last year, Rob's father's death (also last year), and being back in "the system," as we call it here in Maine. It sucks. Reality bites sometimes.
But I made a promise to my husband: last year, as we stood at my mother's grave site, watching her urn being buried in the cold November ground, less than two months after we spread his dad's ashes in Taunton Bay, my husband started to cry. I put my arm around him and hugged him tightly.
"No more funerals," he sobbed. "I can't take anymore."
"No more funerals," I promised.
This Saturday, June 9, 2012, we are going to stand before some of my (very nice and friendly) relatives, and any friends who chose to join us, and renew our love for each other. It's going to be short and sweet, not even a minister (as we are already married and don't need someone else to guide our love for each other). Right now he's out applying for more jobs; at almost age 60, even with an MBA, he is discouraged, but willing to take anything within his physical capabilities. Rob has two hip implants, so he has trouble doing anything that requires standing for long periods of time. He can do office jobs, but sitting also bothers his hips, and makes his lower back ache. He doesn't complain very much, but I know it hurts him. He can't even bend down to tie his shoes, and I have to clip his toenails for him. He tried to go back and see about getting his left hip operated on, as initially it had to be replaced three times: the first time it got infected, the second there was an issue with the rod they inserted into his thighbone, and the third time, they said, "you're good to go!" Even though he wasn't good to go. He had pain, stiffness, and lack of flexibility in his left hip. He finally went back to the doctor, who said, "well, your insurance (this was when we had insurance) won't pay for it. It's considered elective surgery." Rob got sent to physical therapy, which didn't do squat. He's considering applying for disability, something he's avoided for years, because he has come to realize that he needs more intense medical care than he's been receiving in recent years, which is about nil. He has to walk with a cane a lot, and having been in a physical occupation for much of his youth (ballet dancer), I can't imagine how difficult it must be to not be able to do simple things like tie one's own shoes or clip one's own toenails. This is Rob when he worked for the Ballet Met in Columbus, Ohio:
He always puts himself down. "I was too fat for a ballet dancer, and I wasn't very good." I beg to differ, because he danced in France for years, and was Principle in more than one company. But I guess in the dance world, like the theater world, cattiness abounds. He was gorgeous, n'est pas?
Still, he suffers in silence, always putting forward a cheerful face. Until he came down with the vitamin deficiency again. His former job consisted of working as a 1099 contractor for a company that promised him a lot of hours. When they didn't deliver, he requested more hours, and was promised such. When THAT didn't happen, he asked again. When he got out of the hospital, he asked them to advance a few hundred from his next paycheck.
"Sorry, we don't do that for contractors," he was told. This was after having sunshine blown up his ass for two months to the tune of "you're so great, we will definitely be giving you more hours, and we want you to mentor our new employees," blah, blah, blah, blah. Show me the money, assholes. Don't blow sunshine up my husband's butt, because we've both heard it all before: "be our wage slaves, with zero benefits, but when the chips are down and you need us, buh-bye now."
Rob told them he couldn't afford to live on $200-$250 a week. Their response: "Feel free to re-apply in the future." Then they paid him less than he was due, because due to his Vitamin D & B12 fogged brain, he had neglected to log some of the work he'd done for them, even though Rob knew he'd done it, and THEY knew he'd done it. Bully for them. You've just lost the best employee you could have lifted up, you bastards. That's my husband you pushed aside, not some turn-em-and-burn-em doormat who's going to slink off into the shadows and lie down with his belly up, waiting for the next avaricious employer to blow sunshine up his butt with false promises. That's my husband you did that to, with your cold inhuman attitude. I don't even have to wish your business will fail, because you have already failed in the human department, and that attitude will seep into every one of your business interactions: with your employees, and ultimately, through them, to your customers. Good luck running a company that way in today's market. Good fucking luck.
Now, onto happier things: if you want to join us for a very casual wedding renewal party, and some good company and good cheer shortly afterward, contact me via mariemonteux _at_ gmail.com. RSVP, as they say, so I know how much food to set out. BYOB, as we can't presently afford to stock a full bar for guests. A dish to pass or a dessert would be welcome. In any case, we will be here, holding hands, celebrating our love for each other, our triumph over adversity, and how we are still together despite our troubles. 1:00 p.m., Saturday, June 9, 2012, Monmouth, Maine, Red Top, which is the name of our house on Lake Annabessacook.
Because I promised: no more funerals. Maybe I can't keep that one forever, but for one day, a lovely June day in Maine, this will be "the way life should be." For my husband, Rob, the love of my life, my friend, my lover, and partner in imaginary heinous crimes against wanna-be poser business owners. I will be dressed as the Fairy Queen, and Rob will be The Most Interesting Man in the World. Because he is the most interesting man in the world, to me.
Red Solo Cup. I lift you up. Let's have a party, proceed to party!
Labels:
Dance,
Love,
Maine,
Medical,
Prozac,
Red Solo Cup,
Triumph,
Unemployment,
Wedding
Thursday, May 17, 2012
New Beginnings
A hearty "Hello" to all my new readers, and fans of yesteryear.
Been busy the past few years with family stuff. My old blog got deleted by GoDaddy (we missed a payment when our new debit card got issued due to all the Hannaford hackers a few years ago, different debit card number, payment bounced, email went to spam folder, Marie wasn't posting and checking on her blog, etc.). Anyway, all of my posts, including a ton of photos, went up like a puff of smoke and GoDaddy didn't have a back-up, as is sometimes the case. I was devastated, but decided to wait until I had time to dedicate to posting on a consistent basis to re-start any type of blog.
Been doing a lot of cooking lately, and I just got re-Tweeted by Tyler Florence of the Food Network, so that made my year. Only thing better was getting a reply on Twitter from Geoffrey Zakarian. My TWO 15 minutes of fame, ha-ha.
Just started a new side business, called "In Your Dreams Productions." I am going to do Fantasy Themed Parties for people, mainly women, but I can do manly things too, like dressing up a dude as a motorcycle man (think Easy Rider) and taking his pic on a Harley. I got the idea from a book called "Extraordinary Women: Fantasies Revealed," which I got on sale at Marden's.
(In case you never heard of Marden's, it is a chain of discount stores, owned and operated in Maine. They put on really whacky commercials, starring The Marden's Lady, who is really a character actress and comedian. If you see something you like at Marden's, buy it, because it is all overstock stuff, hence their tagline, "I should've bought it, when I saw it, at Marden's!" They sell clothes, too, I got some Nike exercise shorts wicked cheap there a month or two ago.)
This blog is about Maine and things to do in Maine. Hence the title, two of the best things that Maine is known for: Whoopie Pies and Lobster. I've got a ton of posts to write, so check back soon, as I am experimenting with YouTube videos to enhance your viewing pleasure. Here's one of me making tourtiere pie at my new house in Monmouth, which is right on Lake Annabessacook. Robert and I are thrilled to be here, as we've had a hard time the past few years, like many of our fellow Mainers. But he's got a new job at Dream Local Digital, and is re-opening his hypnosis and life coaching business soon, and things are looking up, especially in the kitten arena:
That's our new kitten, MoneyPenny. She is a tiny fluffball, and wicked cute! Our big half-Coon, Max, adores her, and it's so funny to see a giant goofy Maine Coon wrestling with a little patchwork kitten. She grabs his tail and he tries pinning her down, but she's lightning fast! She noses him out of the food bowl, too. :-)
Well, I promised the folks at Cumston Hall that I'd be writing about them, so... Onward! And Tally Ho!
Labels:
Cooking,
Dreams,
Fantasy,
Food Network,
Geoffrey Zakarian,
Kittens,
Lobster,
Maine,
Twitter,
Tyler Florence,
Whoopie Pies
Location:
Monmouth, ME, USA
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