Friday, July 3, 2020

     I had a hell of a time falling asleep last night. My encounters with Progressive leave me churning. I can live with not getting what I want, i.e., a return of the money I put out because of Adam's accident.  I can't live with the nonsense they're feeding me.  I don't know if it is incompetence, lack of training, or fraud.  Whatever, I couldn't sleep.  I got up in the middle of the night to spend time on my standing vibrating machine. Someone had told me that shaking reduced the stress of trauma; we shake it off, literally.  That didn't do much good.  It was one of those moments when I wished Mike was here. Of course, if he had been, he probably wouldn't have been in particularly good shape, and I would hardly have felt that I could burden him with this problem. It would have only added stress to his situation.

    If Mike had survived pancreatitis, he would have been very limited. The doctors made it sound like there was hope that he would regain his life – over time. However, as I learned the effects of intubation on people's nervous systems, I realized that visions of his complete recovery were a fantasy.  Until these recent reports of the impact of ventilators on patients, I always associated them with surgery.  People were intubated during the procedure. The time they were on them could be counted in hours, not days, weeks, or months. People come out of those surgical procedures just fine and dandy.  If I had known, I would have been prepared for him to die much sooner. I don't know yet if anyone in the family was any more knowledgeable than I was. Maybe they were. Once I announced he was in the ICU, people made their way out to Hawaii to say goodbye.  

    I have no idea how my head worked.  While he was in the hospital, I was preparing for a long recovery, even when he was in the ICU for the second time. Once I made the decision to let him go, I was dancing. The palliative care nurse who came up to 'comfort' me must have thought I was out of my mind. I was joyful. I was joyful because it wasn't all my decision.

    Damon had called Yvette earlier that day and said that he was prepared to let him go. That meant it was all on me. What a decision! Take him off life support, without which he could not have survived.  Could he have survived if I had waited longer?  The answer is clearly no. The doctor in charge of his case said that operating was the only other option. It was unlikely that he would have survived. So it was either die in the ICU or on the operating table. After I decided, a nurse told me that there was puss coming out of every tube in his body.  As I read over my updates, I found that he asked to go on the Monday before; I decided on the following Saturday, and he died on Sunday. I had forgotten his request. At the time, I assured him we were already in discussion with the palliative team, but I didn't want to 'pull the plug' until I was sure that death was his only option. 

    He had declared that he wanted to die shortly after we arrived in the hospital, before his first trip to the ICU. At that time, I asked him if he was serious.  He made it clear he was not. He was just wailing. He had much cause to wail. 

    I finally fell asleep. I can call on Mike to comfort me even though he is not here. I pictured him holding me and singing to me.  Mike was tone-deaf and couldn't sing to save himself. I loved his singing. It made me giggle, not because his singing was terrible, which it was, but because he made himself vulnerable when he sang. It was so sweet.  I wonder now if he understood why I loved it so much.  I would say, "Sing to me." It was always comforting.  

    I am not devastated by my loss of Mike. It feels okay, but I wonder if something is wrong with me.  I adored that man. But I was also independent of him. My identity wasn't anchored in my marriage, and I had prepared for the loss. Since my dad died when I was fifteen, I understood that I could lose a loved one at any time. I mourned Mike's loss over the years. If he came home unexpectedly late, he would find me curled up in a corner, clutching my widow's weeds. When his death finally came, for real, I was more than ready.  I often thought through exactly what I would do if he died.  I was as prepared as I could be.

    I also feel no regrets over who I was in the marriage. Were we perfect? Good God, no. We were always a work in progress. But there was a deep, deep connection. That is still there. I am a woman who was loved, deeply loved. I can't begin to tell you how transforming that was.  My mother worked to convince me that nothing was right with me. Mike fulfilled a wish I had. That wish is captured in a misquote of a  Yeats poem. It's not my misquote; it belongs to a roommate of mine in graduate school, Carol Barter. (Hello, Carol, if you are out there.)  

     Some men loved her for her fair face.

    Some men loved her for her glad grace.

    But one man loved her for her pilgrim soul,

    And the thousand faces of her changing moods. 

 

That's what I felt I had in Mike.  Did he like everything about me? No. Did he learn to enjoy more things about me over the years? Yes. Either way, I felt loved.  It fills me.

    I got up at 5:30 am and headed out.  Elsa came with me for the first part of the walk. Elsa has adopted a new behavior because I have been walking up and down my street, passing my house repeatedly. She pulled back to go home right after she peed, maybe 100 steps into our 5,500 step-walk.  I wasn't sure what her problem was. It could have been her leg was bothering her.  When we got into the house, she was clearly petitioning for an early breakfast.  I told her no and walked out the door. She came running. I opened the door to put on her harness, and she ran to the kitchen.  I walked out of the house. Forget it, girl. You are not getting an early breakfast.  I stopped in every time I passed the house.  She persisted in her behavior until the third time. She finally sat still, I put her harness on, and she accompanied me for part of the walk. I did feed her after I finished my 5,500 steps.

    I had plans to deliver a book on Irish History from Mike's library to Colleen, who did my facial. She serves as a greeter at St. Michael's and remembers Mike fondly. She wanted something of his. She asked me to meet her at the bottom of Kaiminani at 10:10 on the shoulder. The plan was that she would head off to the airport to catch a flight back to Oahu, where she lives, and I would head into town to take care of getting the DMV form notarized.  I waited and waited, but she never showed up. I had to leave at 10:20 to make sure I made it for the 11 am appointment.  I texted her.  She finally texted me back, saying she got held up and ran late. 

    I headed to town to deal with the notarization problem. The question was, did I have to sign that notarized form, or did Josh?  The lady at the DMV was clear, "Have him notarize it." To cover all possibilities, I went to Office Depot to Xerox the form Josh had filled out with his name, whitened out his name on that form, and then Xeroxed the amended form.  Form in hand, I headed over to the bank.  They called his name before 11 and before he came. I said that I had to wait. Then I thought, "I bet the lady who notarizes these forms knows which one of us has to sign it."  She confirmed that I was me just as Josh walked through the door. I thanked him for coming and sent him home. He was most gracious about this massive inconvenience.

    While I was there, I went over to thank the bank clerk who handled my snarkiness the other day. I told her that the sign telling me which number to call to make an appointment didn't provide a connection to make one.  She went over to get the sign and showed me it said, "Dial 0.' She was gentle and nonjudgmental in her effect.  It was amazing.  I thanked her for being such a good role model.  I doubt I'll ever achieve that level of aplomb, but I have what is possible in mind now.  As Yvette pointed out, I speak with a sardonic tone no matter what I'm talking about.  I think it's funny.  I see myself as usually making fun of myself.

    Actually, it's more than that. I had a commitment to not be 'nice' when I was an undergraduate.  I had two role models, my mom and my dad. My dad was always 'nice,' 'gentle,' but he was also always manipulative and controlling.  While my mom was a holy terror, at least I saw her coming.  I figured being 'not nice' was the more ethical path. I remember thinking that I wanted my gravestone to read, "She was a bitch."  I've been looking for the middle path ever since.

    Once I had completed my business at the bank, I went to the DMV to complete the process. The bank clerk told me they would issue a Title in my name, and then I would sign it over to Josh. I wondered how long this was going to take. I wanted to get it out of my name so there would be no question of liability should there be an accident. 

    The parking lot at the county administration complex was empty. My first thought was great—I'll move through the line in no time flat. Then I realized this was weird. Sure enough, it was closed. There was no sign announcing its closure for today. Other people also arrived and said there was no announcement online that they would be closed today. I wonder if they will be open on Monday. 

    I drove home to deal with insurance claims again.  My experience with the employees of Geico is different than it has been with Progressive.  They explain everything to me in sensible terms in courteous language. What a relief! The results were the same, which still doesn't make sense to me. Why am I being charged $200 a year for five years for a tow and a fender bender?  I kept myself calm by playing with an adult coloring book while I talked to them.

    The fender bender was nothing. The insurance company only found out about it because Shivani and I had reported it. Advice: Keep your mouth shut.  I had asked Shivani to call Progressive to get roadside service. I gave up AAA because I had it with Progressive. OMG! That roadside service cost me $1000 in increased premiums over five years.  

    Progressive doesn't post a roadside service number, only a claims number. So, the claims representative asked Shivani what happened. She told them about my silly accident.  (I would have done the same thing) It was so trivial, and I couldn't imagine that it would increase my rates. Guess again.  Then, they have on record that they spoke to me on December 10. I gave the accident details, trying to point out that it wasn't worth a claim. It doesn't work that way.  Say nothing about accidents to your insurance company.  Geico said that with an accident reported, that was my fault. Even if no money was paid out, it increased my premiums. Jez Louise! It's a nightmare. I'm stuck with that increased fee for five years. The five years is a local quirk.

Thursday, July 2, 2020

     I got up when the alarm went off. I searched the house for my earbuds. I couldn't find them for love nor money.  I listened to some TED broadcasts on the speakerphone. That was just fine.   Before leaving, I moved my car to the edge of the driveway so Yvette could set up for Thursday's driveway yoga.

    I finished my walk well before 7. As I returned home, one of the yoga students was already there and said, "There's a present for you at the door." I checked both doors but saw nothing. Then I saw the flowers sitting on the Weber. I saw a King-sized Hershey's Milk chocolate with almonds when I got closer. When I got inside, another slightly smaller bar sat on my kitchen counter.  The chocolate elves had been at work last night. The student who gave me the second bar said, "Matsuyama's called and said I had to come to buy a bar." Matsuyama is our local bodega. 

     Once I was lying down during the class, I wasn't inclined to get up again. I modified Yvette's instructions as best I could. We had ten people in the class. Yvette set out a box to collect donations. 

    Housecleaning and gardening were on my to-do list for the day.  I washed the kitchen floor, poured boiling water on some weeds that looked too hardy for a vinegar bath, and cleaned my toilet. 

    At 10:30, I had a Zoom tutoring client, D. I have a hard copy of the book we are working with, and he is reading it on a tablet. He lost his copy of the hard-covered book his teacher had given him.  This worked out okay when we were working on the first few pages over and over and over. But now, we can move along more quickly.  His mother said she was going to order a hard copy. I only found out recently that she hadn't. I was ready to pull my hair out today. We had problems being in the same place in the text with our different formats. I told his mother that I wouldn't work with him on that book until he got a hard copy of the book. It was just too frustrating.

    I called a student I have been trying to connect with who wants some help with comprehension. I was going to work with her yesterday, but the morning got away from me. Then Colleen texted to say she could fit me in at 2:15 for a facial. Her family was already on the road for a weekend getaway. I'll work with her on Monday.

    I took a nap. I texted August about needing his help with my computer work.  He seems to forget about me.  I think I have to ask him if he would prefer that I hire someone to help me instead of bullying him to get his support.  

    I did more work preparing the PowerPoint slides for the YouTube download, using the audio files to teach phonemic awareness. While working on that project, something the Geico customer service person said yesterday echoed in my ears. When I told her that 'my accident' wasn't an accident.  While the car broke down, the problem had nothing to do with an accident. The hybrid battery needed a new part.  She said, "Did you challenge the accident report?" Huh? Never occurred to me that I could. 

    I called Geico service and asked how I could challenge the report. Wow! The amount of information I got was off the chart. She told me they got their information from Nexus Lexus.  My Progressive Agent(s) told me I couldn't contact them. The Geico representative gave me their number and the steps in the procedure for challenging the claim. Wow!       Progressive told Adam and me the report couldn't be changed once filed. This lady at Geico told me a) it could be challenged and b) how to challenge it.  What a difference!

    I asked her to stop for a minute while I took in the relief I felt getting answers to my questions. Progressive made me feel like I was dealing with the KGB. I could feel my insides relax. I felt more relaxed, not because I got sensible answers to my questions, but because I was dealing with someone who gave me a pathway for solving the problem.  Progressive gave me four different answers and misinformation.  They either deliberately lied or are ridiculously uninformed.    When Adam's accident was listed as his fault immediately after the accident, he was told that they couldn't rerun the search, and there was no one he could speak to get a change. 

    For those of you who don't know the circumstances, Adam's car was hit at 40 mph while parked with his engine turned off. All accidents are listed immediately as everyone's fault.   He was earning money through Uber, and now that car was gone. I let him use Mike's car while he was without one. I had to put him on my insurance because he was driving for Uber.  Eventually, the truth of his accident would impact the records kept by Nexus Lexus, but he came on to my insurance before that occurred.  He had to threaten a lawsuit before they agreed to change their position.  Looking back now, I wonder if they did.  

    I contacted D.'s mother and said that I wouldn't make our Friday 10:30 Zoom appointment. I offered other times, but she said let's pick up the sessions again on Monday when we are usually scheduled.       

Wednesday, July 1, 2020

     Elsa had used the wee-wee pad again last night.  I thought she had gotten into using it because I was walking her so late. But last night, I took her out an hour earlier than usual. The pad was in the shower this time, so there was no floor to clean up.  I follow the same principle with these pads as I do with flushing, "If it's yellow, let it mellow; if it's brown, flush it down." I hung the soiled pad up on the laundry line to let the sun and rain do their work.  I remember a woman telling me how this Hawaiian sun sucked all signs of urine right out of an object. She did that with sofa pillows when her kids had an accident. Sounded good to me.  

    As I woke up, I had a dream that someone told me that Mike was dead, and I passed out.  I suspect another layer of reality has set in. 

    I always run into many of the same people when I walk. Today, I ran into an older couple I hadn't seen for a while. Her husband said they hadn't been walking for the last five months.  He had had an accident. He was riding his lawnmower. As he passed under a tree, he didn't duck deep enough. He drove the top of his head into that branch and broke his neck. Ow! He was lucky he was not permanently paralyzed from the neck on down or dead. 

    I run into many of the same people.  Two men who walk with their wives look like they modeled for eligible middle-aged men in Kona.  I doubt they were the model, but their faces are unusual. Interesting. 

    After the walk, I meditated for half an hour. I was tired afterward and lay down to sleep. I wanted to work with a student on comprehension, but I wasn't up for it. When I woke up, I only had half an hour before my next appointment.  In the middle of that, I got a call from my aesthetician. She had an opening at 2:15; could I make it? You'd better believe it. This woman does wonders with my face. She is only here for one week a month. She lives on Oahu.  Yvette told me about her. But my first session with her was a free one she offered me after Mike died.  She had known him and valued her brief interactions with him.

    I stopped off at Ace Hardware to pick up the $6.00 plastic shield face mask. Judy was wearing one when she came over yesterday. She had painted the headband to cover up the company label.  The lady who sold me the shield told me about a customer who painted the headband lavender.  I said I know; she's my friend. The clerk told me that everyone who buys one knows this lady. She said to thank her for passing on information about Ace's shields. She drummed up a lot of business.

    Elsa and I went for our before-dinner walk. I wasn't very hungry. I had defrosted some chicken but hadn't had a chance to cook it.  Since cooking requires electricity, I want to bake it during the sunlight hours, so I'm reliant entirely on solar.  I had a quick dinner: a small salad and a frozen burrito.

    Collen, the aesthetician, asked me to fill out a survey for the best services in West Hawaii. She texted me the survey.  I had to choose at least twenty businesses to qualify for the survey. I didn't think I could do it. Au contra: I had over thirty to recommend.  

    I continued watching Endeavor before going to bed.  Yvette came up to pick up a form I had printed out for her. She also returned the paperwork I had given Josh to get notarized.  He had started filling it out and concluded it was for me to fill out, not him.  However, that is not what the lady at the DMV told me.

    I had gone the other day to find out what I needed to do to complete the sale of Mike's Ford; the title was in his name. I told the lady at the DMV that I wanted to sell my deceased husband's car to my son-in-law. She gave me a form and told me he, yes he, had to have it notarized. Yes, I could return the completed form to the DMV to complete the process.  I had made an appointment for Josh for Friday at 11 am when I was there the other day. Now, here was Yvette saying that she thought I was the one who was supposed to get the form notarized, not Josh. That made sense to me, but it was not what the lady had said.

Tuesday, June 30, 2020

 I ignored the morning alarm when it went off, figuring I would get a little walk in before the morning driveway yoga class—no such luck. I woke up a few minutes before seven. I raced to get Elsa out the back door and ready her breakfast.

 While thinking about switching car insurance companies, I wondered when mine would expire. While I paid for the next six months, it didn't start until the next day, which meant I still had time to cancel with Progressive without being penalized. One of my considerations was leaving Josh without coverage. If I completed the car sale on Tuesday, all would be well. I texted Josh. 

 I suggested that we complete the transaction today. Josh would have to get his form filled out and notarized over lunch. I could then come pick it up and take it to the DMV. He got back to me to say he could do nothing until Friday, his day off. He said he thought he could get the car on his insurance even if he didn't own it yet.

 Before the driveway yoga class, Yvette confirmed that Josh had gotten his car insurance. There were seven people in class this morning.  If everyone who has come so far were to participate simultaneously, eleven people would be in the class. We all sat closer together but did not face each other.

 Yvette did different things in today's class. She did this self-touching exercise, most lightly touching ourselves, starting with our heads and faces.  Its impact was amazing.  I realized my face hadn't been touched except when I washed it or wiped my eyes or nose since Mike died. It was transforming. After the class, I told her she had to post this exercise on Facebook and on YouTube. It will be so healing for many people who are also experiencing physical isolation.  She said she would do it. She also reminded people that she will be asking for donations starting in July and opening the class to the general public.  I will be getting my classes for free.  I announced how smart I was to pick her out of the litter to take care of me in my old age.

 I ate my breakfast and headed out to the DMV. Since the Traffic Abstract didn't give me the information I needed on accidents, I assumed the DMV would have that. I stood online for quite a while.  When I got to the counter, an outside window usually occupied by the cashier, I commented that the counter hadn't been cleaned. The clerk said, "We have janitors clean it." Is that once a day?  That doesn't sound like it fulfills the cleanliness requirements posed by the virus.  I wasn't too worried. We didn't have a single case on the island at the time. I suppose we could be awash in asymptomatic folks. I find myself getting lazy. If it wasn't required that I wear a mask when entering a store, I might not. So often, I've locked the car, and I'm on my way to the door when I see someone in a mask and realize I forgot mine. Back I have to go.

 The clerk at the window told me that I needed a Driver's Abstract, not a Traffic Abstract. This sounds like what the Progressive agent had said, so I'm off to the courthouse to get that.

 At the court, I gave the clerk, a young woman, both our Driver's licenses, Mike's and mine, asking for the Driver's abstract. This was going to cost me another $40 for the two of them. When she gave them to me, I saw they were the same reports I got yesterday. That was forty more dollars for no purpose.  I had made it clear to the clerk at the DMV that I wanted a list of the accidents credited to me. She had given me the name of the wrong form.  I was frustrated.  I told the clerk these were useless to me, pushed them back through the slot under the plexiglass panel, and told her to just throw them out.  I made some noise about them, saying that the lady at the DMV said this was what I needed. She seemed upset. I assured her that I didn't think she was at fault.

 She told me that what I needed was a driver's history. That would be another $9 per report. Okay, I gave her our Driver's licenses again. It took forever, a good twenty minutes to half an hour. There was no one else online behind me most of the time. When someone came, I said I had been waiting for a long time. She said maybe there was a problem. Then, the clerk announced she was having issues with the printer in response to our conversation.  I had assumed the delay was expected.  I had nothing to compare it to. Sadly, the clerk never thought to say, "So sorry for the wait; I'm having problems with the printer." She came back at one point and told me that she couldn't get my husband's because he was dead. I pulled out his death certificate. She handed me a form that I had to get notarized. After a while, she handed me a sheet of paper, my Driver's license, and the one-dollar change for the ten I gave her.

 I stepped aside from her window while the next customer stepped up. I looked at the form she gave me while I stood there. I said she had given me someone else's form. It wasn't in my name. I pulled out my Driver's license and saw that she had put in the wrong number; it was off by one digit.  I announced, 'You gave me the wrong one." She said, "No, it's your name." I told her that she had gotten the license number incorrect.  She said, "Give it back to me." I said, "Absolutely not! Not until I get mine."

 By this point, the next lady in line was at the counter. I said, "I'll go into town, get this form notarized, and come back and get both forms." She announced, "You can't leave with that document." No, I'm so sorry for the error; please wait a minute. Or please, give me the document back." No, no, no. The word sorry or please never passed her lips.

 I stood aside, already agitated—this whole adventure with the insurance company and now with the DMV and the courts.  The man at the counter next to hers told me I couldn't stand at the counter between his window and the lady I'd been dealing with because someone might come to his window. I said if someone came, I would move. He insisted that I move, threatening to call security. I turned and said, "I've had it. I'm leaving. Why don't you call the security and have them shoot me for good measure." I was furious. I had totally lost it. I was concerned that I was going to be stopped and possibly arrested as I left the building. But my exit was uneventful. I had paid a total of $89 so far and had zero information that I could use. No one knows their ass from their elbow, and they consider me rude for expecting them to know.

 When I got out, I called Dorothy and told her I was going to be arrested. She became quite concerned, but she assured me I wouldn't be arrested when I explained the story to her. The truth is that if I hadn't announced I had the wrong document while standing there, I would have left with the paper in my hand unnoticed.

 I went to the bank to get the form, which would allow me to get Mike's driving history notarized. There was an announcement on the table where the notary usually sits saying that you needed an appointment. "Call this number or speak to a representative," I called the number; the notary was not among the choices. I went to speak to a representative. You can imagine my mood was not 100%. I told this lovely lady that their information wasn't adequate. She said she thought the sign said to dial 0.  She actually brought me the sign to see for myself. All this time, she was lovely, just sharing information. I thanked her for being so calm and told her I had had a rough day.  I should have apologized for my snarling tone. 

 I made an appointment for myself for Thursday. While I was there, I made an appointment for Josh for Friday.  He had to get a form notarized to complete the transfer of title for Mike's car to him. I wasn't up for going back and dealing with the court clerks, so I headed home. Judy called while I was driving. I shared my story with her. Telling her the story was calming.

 When I got home, I called Geico to set up my insurance with them. It's not that I think their employees won't make similar mistakes; it's just that I have bad associations with Progressive. I don't want to have to think about having to deal with them.  For the most part, the unpleasantness was caused by their lack of knowledge. How can people be so undertrained in their own field?

 I called to cancel Progressive. When I reached their local agent, the one who had advised me to get an 'abstract.' I told her that was the wrong information.  If someone wants a record of their accidents, it's called a 'driver's history," "Please, don't do that to anyone else."

 Judy came over, bearing a large piece of chocolate cake she made for Zion's birthday.  She was wearing a plastic shield mask with a flower attached.  She had gotten the shield at Ace Hardware for $5. They came in different price ranges; she got the cheapest. She said she painted the headband, which bore Ace's name. It looked pretty good.  It was wonderful to see her whole face.

 She had told me yesterday that Adam and Jazzy were snapping at each other. She was concerned because her son Adam wasn't as considerate as he should have been of his wife, who had borne a 9lb. 15oz. baby, three days before, and was on bed rest because of an elevated pulse rate.     All was well today between them.  They both confessed their fears that this baby might also have FoxG1 disability as their second son has. Luke is extremely disabled and also extremely loved. Once they confessed their fears to each other, they cried together and consoled each other. They knew then they would deal with it when it happened. What a story!

 While it is statistically unlikely that one couple will bear two children with this genetic disorder, there are two recorded cases in the FoxG1 community. Two cases means it's not out of the question. Whatever the case may be, they can already be sure that Zion will never be as disabled as Luke is.  Luke's head size was much smaller than that of a normal baby; he had no soft spot, an odd cry, and didn't respond to movement. Zion's head is normal size, he has a normal soft spot, his cry is typical, and he was tracking movement by his second day. It's still going to be a wait before they know for sure. Do all parents worry about their children at first? I doubt it.  If it hasn't been part of your family experience or among your friends, once the baby arrives with all ten fingers and all ten toes, the rest feels as if it will proceed as expected. How naïve we all are.  There is so much that can go wrong. I've heard parents speak about the chances they took adopting a child. Bearing a child is just as much of a gamble.

 Yvette came up to visit. She has been stopping by the chat more often, and I'm enjoying it very much. I know we have known each other for her whole life, and yet we don't

 I couldn't find anything on TV worth watching, so I reverted to watching an old show that Mike and I watched, Endeavor. It's an English mystery set after the Second World War in England. The main character is an Oxford graduate who goes into police work as a detective.  Because his methods are unconventional, he's harassed by one of his supervisors and a coworker.  He is considered not normal.  He thinks that's what makes him abnormal.  Boy, it is such a relief from most of what I've been watching, which is badly written, badly directed, and badly acted; this show has none of those failing. Also, Endeavor is not needlessly violent, nor does it feature people motivated by mental illness. Ah.

_____-_____-______

Musings:

 I am struck by how rudely the clerks at the courthouse treated me compared to how politely customer service representatives from retail providers like Amazon or Apple treated me. If I have had a problem, even one that is clearly no one's fault, they say, "I'm sorry. How can I help you?" They are always not only polite but downright sympathetic.

 In this bureaucratic situation, the employees were unempathetic and downright rude.  Is it a lack of training, do they attract people with low empathy, or is it the institution?   

 I heard a TED talk by Zimbardo of the Stanford Prison Experiments on what causes deviant behavior in people. He disputed the bad apple theory and said we are all vulnerable to bad behavior if it is encouraged by the leadership or the group we're in. It's disheartening to know how vulnerable we are all to exhibiting pure evil.

 He spoke about the incidents in Abu Ghraib, where military personnel tortured Islamic prisoners.  They had been told by their superiors to 'warm up' the prisoners for interrogation. Their behavior was not only sanctioned but encouraged.

 This suggests that the bad behavior of the court clerks I dealt with is due to their superiors and their training, not the individual people. Telemarketers are embedded in bureaucracy, too. If they can be trained to be polite and downright empathetic, these court clerks can surely be trained to be so. The same goes for the police, no?

Monday, June 29, 2020

    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.