I heard the alarm at 5:30 and turned it off, figuring I’d be up in half an hour. At 7 a.m., I got up. Elsa was reluctant to join me for the walk—it was, after all, her breakfast time—but I insisted on some walk time before I fed her. I called Dorothy. We shared information about the books we were reading. I am reading The Hidden Face of God for the second time, and she is reading The New Jim Crow.
I am reading The Hidden Face of God for the second time now. Judy lent it to me. It’s not a mystical book; it’s scientific. It covers what science doesn’t know and can’t explain. The nature of everything is awe-inspiring. The author, Schroeder, writes lucidly. I have learned things I didn’t know about the structure of the atom; I have finally understood something I had learned but didn’t understand at the time about how the nerves worked. For the author, all this unknown and unexplainable is evidence of God’s intelligence. The thing is that for me, the question of whether God really exists or not is irrelevant. It’s a belief system.
I was raised not to believe, and I found it stressful. Now, I chose to allow myself to believe in a God. My question is: Does my belief harm me or others? Does it do me good or anyone else? So far, I don’t see the harm in my religious beliefs.
My parents, particularly my father, felt cynical about religion because he saw two world wars generated by group beliefs. He saw beliefs as the route of all evil, leading to group identities that people were prepared to kill for. I came to the conclusion that the need for group membership was just a basic human need. However, it didn’t have to include hatred of those who are not in the group. Hatred for others is a cheap, easy way of solidifying group membership; it generates common energy; therefore, we all have something powerful in common. Yay for our team! We are the good guys. An anthropology teacher told us that in primitive tribes, the name for the tribe is the same word for the word meaning human. If someone is not a member of the tribe, they are not human. Dehumanized. This may have served a purpose when roaming the savanna, and it was a struggle for survival every day. I don’t see its purpose now. We, humans, are stuck with drives that were designed for different circumstances. We have to come to grips, or we will all go to hell in a handbag.
I am afraid to read The New Jim Crow. I know how badly we have treated people of color in our society. I’m someone who won’t travel to India because I can’t stand to see all the poverty. I know, I know. It does no one any good. I don’t think my sympathetic pain makes me a good person. I even see it as a useless self-indulgence, some sort of psychological problem that does no one any good, not even me.
Dorothy said the New Jim Crow book is lucidly written. I did learn something new. Veteran’s benefits after WWII, the GI Bill, which helped many people climb into the middle class, were not given to soldiers of color. The situation between the blacks and whites compares to a board game where one side gets all the benefits, I think it’s call cheating, and then the winning players claim they won because they were better.
Another friend told me she had a weird experience at this time of the virus; she drove out of her town. Like the rest of us, she hasn’t been far from home for the last three months. Being that far from home was anxiety-producing. Amazing how soon we adapt to the new routine and find what was once commonplace anxiety-producing. So far, all my travels take me on only the most familiar routes. The island isn’t big enough to take me to vastly unfamiliar places.
I called the Police department this morning to see if I could get Adam’s police report. They told me I could if I had the number. I had to call him. I called Jazzy’s number because I thought Adam might still be asleep. I congratulated her on the baby, and we talked a bit about her labor. She was at a loss for words. The baby is two days old. I assume she is verbally brain dead for the time being. Her brain is committed to other tasks.
They named the baby Zion. I asked Adam why they chose that name. His father is Jewish, and I wondered if it had something to do with Israel and Zionism. He said no. He had always liked the name. For him, it meant new beginnings. Zion was the city the Israelites were traveling toward. When they arrived there, they would experience a significant change and a new beginning for humanity.
He had wanted to name his first child Zion, but Jazzy hadn’t liked the name. She said he could name their third son Zion, never thinking they would get that far. But here he is, and his name is Zion. We are indeed on the cusp of significant changes. Which way will it go? I’m not overly optimistic that it will go to a place of universal love and kindness from all to all.
I called Adam to explain my insurance, he had the same reaction I did, “That doesn’t make sense. I wasn’t in one of your cars when I had the accident, I wasn’t’ on your insurance at the time, and I’m no longer on your insurance. Why should my no-fault accident count your premiums again?” Good question. I told him I knew how he felt and stopped him from running those questions on me. I’m glad to see it isn’t just me twisting loudly in the wind in response to this situation. He said he thought he had the police report on his email, and he would send it to me.
The best I can hope for is getting these accidents off my Traffic Abstract held by the DMV. Getting money back for being incorrectly charged is unlikely in this bizarre situation.
I called the DMV to get answers to my questions. “Sorry, we’re busy helping other customers. Please, call back at another time.” What time? My guess this is the standard answer and getting through by phone is a non-option.
On the other hand, I did get information about a number to call to get my traffic abstract. When I called, I got clear information; I had to come down to the courthouse, second floor, second window on the right, and pay $20 in cash for each copy. I want one for Mike and one for me. Maybe I’ll start with mine and see what information is on it before paying another $20 for Mike’s.
I had my Zoom appointment with D. today. We had some trouble connecting. He had accepted the invitation, but it wouldn’t come through. I sent out another invitation. We only had time to work on the reading today. Nothing unusual. He read well and then got stuck.
In some cases, he substituted words that we not accurate but made sense n the context. I would call this a step in the right direction. Then he came across words that he read that were neither accurate nor made sense.
Around 11:30 am, I headed out on several chores. I plotted a route that used the least amount of energy from the electric car motor. I started at the vet’s, picking up some pills for Elsa’s skin disease. Next, I went to Long’s to buy skincare products on sale with coupons. Then to UPS to drop off two books for Amazon return. Boy, it is so easy. I just handed them the books, flashed my picture of the bar code, and held out my hand for the receipt.
I noticed two old phones on the floor of the car. I had forgotten about them. They are both dead. I wanted to drop them off somewhere, but I wanted the sim cards removed first. The clerks at T-mobile said they could remove the cards and recycle them. It wasn’t until after I left that I realized the significance of what I had done. Those phones were the ones we used that last night in the hospital as Mike was dying. Damon and Cylin were on Facetime for almost seven hours as we waited for him to die. One phone would run out of juice. We’d plug it in and use the other one. One had been mine and the other Mike’s. They are both dead now. Damon said I should have saved them. No, it won’t bring him back or even make me feel closer to him. I have to come to terms with my life. It is going to be without him. Old things that we shared will go, and new things that we never shared will come into my life.
Then I went to the courthouse to pick up the Traffic Abstracts, which list driving violations for people. I started with mine. Zero. The local progressive agent told me that the high premium fees were definitely because of our accident history. That history was recorded on the Traffic Abstract. That obviously isn’t true. What is the basis of Progressive’s premium penalty? Forty dollars later, twenty for each abstract, I knew that Mike and I had no history of accidents in Hawaii. Now what?
I worked my way toward home, stopping at the DMV. All I wanted was an answer to a question. I had tried to call the DMV this morning. All I got, “So sorry. We’re busy with someone else. Call later.” I tried the number again while I was standing online. The person being served when I arrived took forever, but everyone else went faster.
When I got to the window, I explained, ‘My husband died over a year ago; I want to sell his car. The title is in his name. What do I have to do?” She handed me a form for the buyer to fill out and get notarized. I had to provide the title and an original death certificate. I have both. Easy.
I had stopped at the recycling center on my way home to find out where the junkyard that took cars was. I rolled down the hill from the Country Seat made a right turn midway down the hill. When I got about halfway down, I made a right and another right at the stop sign. I had never been up there. The guy in the recycling center told me to look for the red signs. I found a sign listing their services. Vehicles cost $10 a ton, $20 per car. Now, I know what I have to do to get rid of my car. If it only costs twenty dollars to have the junkyard take your car off your hands, why do so many people abandon their cars for the police to deal with? I can see the homeless doing that, but there are perfectly good cars dumped all over these islands.
I was going to drop off donations at Habitat for Humanity, but I forgot to add items I had found yesterday to the box and the whole inventory list. HfH wants you to list everything you donate in a record book they keep. Some places are vaguer: 2 bags of clothes and one box of household goods.
At Costco, I picked up my usual items: almond milk, lemons, salad, and blueberries. I also picked up some items that were on sale. Some that I had wanted anyway, dog dental chews, and some that I just tripped across that I regularly use, Youtheory collagen pills, and one that was just an impulse buy, frozen salmon patties. I needed help getting the carton of milk into the cart. I have no compunction about asking for help. I also had help getting that box into the car. I’ll wait for Yvette to help me get it into the house.
Then I went home. First, I unloaded the food items that could spoil. I was hungry. I cut three slices of a baguette Yvette had shared with me, buttered them and popped them in the microwave for 30 seconds, and had them with small slices of gouda cheese. Wonderful! Then I got everything else out of the car after I hooked up the battery charging device. It was three pm now. I would only have two hours of charging time before I had to shut down for the night.
Damon called. He is wonderful. He makes a point of keeping in touch with me. I told him about my great conversation with his mom, Jean. We are talking about moments we shared with Mike and just moments of our own lives.
I have discovered unbelievably bad TV, poorly written, badly directed, and badly acted. I found a fun movie last night, My Spy on Amazon, I believe. A tough nine-year-old domesticates a Goliath kind of guy. While I watched TV, I ran my information through car insurance sites, including Progressive. Everyone I have contact with, three people and the Internet, gave me different information.
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