Very Much a Newbie ... And that Breaks My Heart

Today a Junior High student had a brief freak out on me. I had asked her to hand over her phone after I caught her using it in class. She refused angrily telling me, "No! I'm not giving it to you. This is my phone." She put it away. I was fine with that for the moment but let her know that she was fine ... for now.

I made it clear that I was taking phones if I saw them. Later on, I saw her again on her phone when she needed to be working. I warned her, "put that away if you want to keep it." She freaked out! "Oh my gawd! It's my phone."

I couldn't help but give her a puzzled look. Then I took a stern attitude asking her what was going on. It took me a moment to realize this child was about to blow. I knew something was brewing under the defiant facade. The class also stopped to stare, I could feel them looking at her. I decided right then and there, for the sake of the child, to get her out. "You know what hon, why don't you head p to the office. I think that's where you kinda wanted to go anyway." (Her teacher was up at the office.)

"Fine," she said, shoving her stuff in her backpack.

"Go ahead and turn in your notebook," I told her. "Mr. (C) is collecting them."

She stopped and glared at me. "I don't have to give you my notebook. It's MY notebook." One of her classmates became exasperated and piped up, "Jeez "Gigi" what is the deal with the attitude!"

I watched her walk out. I looked at the class and told them, "I didn't mean to upset her."

"Oh it wasn't you," I was told. "She does this to Mr. C." I expressed sorrow. I reminded the students that we were all dealing with things. I know I do, I said. But they didn't seem to believe me.

For the record, I collected several phones today. The students gave me no troubles and simply collected got them back at the end of class. I never keep them if the student willingly hands them over. I usually give it back at the end of class. If a student is disrespectful, I either take the phone and deliver it to the office or I will write the student up.

Today was the first time I saw a youngster struggling this bad. I told this to the teacher and expressed my suspicions about the inner pain, his face became serious, he sighed and confirmed my suspicions with a simple nod and, "yep."

 I'm not sure if I handled it well. I know I could have done better. I think I was being tough with a child who was already hurting. For that, I feel bad.

Home is Where the Heart is ... And Where I Feel Afraid

Hello! I have a strange topic I need to vent about. First I need to set the scene for you all. I am a professional. So is my husband. We don’t make light of complaining openly about certain things. And yet I find myself angry, confused and, frankly, nearly sick over what I’m seeing happening to my home.

I am deeply concerned with some things done by the new ownership at my Colton apartment complex. Let me be clear, I have lived in this complex for more than 10 years. I've enjoyed it and want desperately to stay but it's becoming very clear that we are in for a bumpy ride with the new owners.

1) We were advised there would be painting done and directed to clear our patios less than a year after we endured painting and directed to clear our patios by previous ownership.

2) For reasons never made clear to me, screens were added on top of our original window screens obscuring a clear view of the outside.






After the addition of the new screens.







Before the screens.

3) On a more amusing note, our complex was renamed “The Tides at Grand Terrace” despite that we are nowhere near a body of water.

4) The apartment complex is in the city of Colton, not in the more affluent city of Grand Terrace.

5) Notification for changes and construction is slow to come, ex. I found out Monday night at 5:55 p.m. that I was unable to use the gym because the hours had changed. The gym was no longer going to be open until 11 p.m. as it has been for years. This despite that their website - which they are quick to change in other ways - still lists the fitness center is available 24 hours.

This leads me to No. 6) Few people here seem to have answers anymore. I gave the gentleman, who stood his ground as he let me know I was intruding on the new hours of the gym, a stern comment about not getting notice. His response is similar to those we’ve received with others, he didn’t know much because he had just started two weeks prior. Perhaps a notice was sent, perhaps it wasn’t.

All that said, and at the risk of airing out too much “dirty laundry,” I should also mention that a month or so ago, the water to several buildings within the complex was shut off without notice. My husband called to advise the front office that notice would have been appreciated as I was in the middle of cooking. He was told the shut off was the work of the city and not the doing of The Tides administrators. My husband, taking a proactive approach, emailed the city’s water department asking for an explanation. Their response was that water department officials were asked to turn off the water by Tides management. Any construction that took place was conducted by The Tides group. Someone needs to check their information here. I can’t speak to all tenants but since the shut off our water pressure has slowed.

The water pressure is not an impactful issue for my family, but a serious lack of communication is. If something has been changed, notification would be appreciated. The changes to the water system may have been for the good of the environment, but I cannot say for sure. I haven’t been informed what in fact happened.

All this is wrapped up in my strong suspicion that the new ownership is attempting to gentrify (for lack of a better phrase) the complex. For example, changes include gearing the amenities that cater more for adult renters rather than family units. Despite the fact that the complex is less than 5 minutes from an elementary school and 10 minutes away from a middle school, the ownership removed a large playground which had been a gathering place for dozens of children in the past now have one choice, to use a tiny playground near the back of the complex.

Rents have gone up impressively. It is their prerogative as owners/managers to implement any rules for occupancy. I must and do respect that. But I also think it’s not unreasonable to detect an underlying message, the proverbial dire warning, in a notification we did get advising us that any occupants who are in any way late submitting their rent run a high risk of eviction, "no exceptions." The note outlined days when rents were due. The language was grim and stoic. We’ve received blanket notices on this topic before. And we have been blessed and fortunate that we have never been late with the rent, thank the Lord! Yet that note made me feel fearful. Honestly, at this point, I fear for our ability to stay here as my family as we may not fit into the future plans of The Tides ownership.

My only consolation is that California law will not allow the owners to raise my rent to the $1,600 plus that they are now beginning to charge. For now, my memory of that new employee standing stoically and unmoved before me, is burned into my memory.

Be Very, Very Quiet...

Good morning. I'm writing this at 2:30 a.m. on January 2, 2020. I have insomnia.

It's a problem.

Fortunately, I am on vacation until next week when I return to work. For those of you still trying to shake off a New Year's hangover, you are not imagining things, I have been gone from this blog for a very long time. But I have yet to give up on it. I have a lot of stuff I have to do tomorrow so I will not write long. I need sleep ... I think I am repeating myself ... yes, I definitely am.

I hope that I can keep up with the blog and write a few things about this year to sort of document how the year goes.

Like so many of us, I have changed and evolved. There is much to write about. We'll see how it goes.

Goodnight/Good morning for now.

It's the End of the Year as We Know It.

This year has grown old. And I’ve grown older. So many things have contributed to a feeling that 2017 aged me at a rapid pace. But for the first time, I can say that I applied the brakes to the rapid decline. For the first time in many years, I have taken control of my own health, tackling my weight, my eating habits and my emotional and behavioral health.

It’s as if I finally grew up.

Strange timing but hopefully not too late to give me and my family a better life. With that in mind, I return to this blog after a very long absence. I left the blog because I felt that posting here only opened doors for a few unwelcomed gawkers. But there is something to be said for reaching out to people who are sincerely supportive.

My goal then is to keep a sort of running record of my attempts and my goals. Pun intended … because, about 7 months ago, I started jogging/running. The fact that I’ve kept it up has inspired me to make New Year’s resolutions that involve this new activity. In 2018, I resolve to run at least six 5Ks. I resolve to cut time off my mile. I resolve train as much as I can.

I resolve to run at least one race in Los Angeles. (This will be a tough one to keep.)

ALSO! I resolve to cut myself a break in the event the large number of projects I love to jump into call me away and force me to reschedule a run. Training should always continue. But so should other labors of love. I also resolve to hit weights, something I do not enjoy at all.

The most important thing I need to do is let go of my fear of the scale. My weight has changed over time. Weight loss should come if I take care of the other pieces. With that, I face the new year with a sense of hope.

Twenty-Eighteen is going to be a rough year. I don’t say that to be negative. I mean to prepare some of us. Whatever may come, I plan to have enough strength to endure it.

Knee Jerk Emotion and Other New Year's Eve Activity

It’s New Year’s Eve and I’m trying to relax at home with my family on a particularly cold night.

I’ve spent the last few days trying to convince myself that as soon as the year ends, I need to find the strength to turn the page.

So writing a blog was the furthest thing from my mind until I read a blog from a fellow writer. She has one of those personalities that make it tough to see the depth of her pain. And I have long suspected she is the closest to an example of a true textbook optimist.

This is a good thing in my opinion. I am, on the other hand, the kind of textbook pessimist; the kind that move shrinks to prescription pads. That attitude helped me do my job over the years

So it was this blog, in which this open-hearted young woman talks about a physical wound that would not heal, that briefly caught my ire. It was her C-Section scar; the one that should have taken weeks to heal but instead took months.

Being one of her followers, I understood what that child means to her. She has written openly about the difficult loss of a pregnancy. I understand there was a great deal of sacrifice on her and her husband’s part to have this child. I am fortunate to be a mother. My life would be empty without my son.

But my initial reaction to her blog was a selfish one. My anger bubbled. I sat back in my chair as tears welled. Why? Some of us have suffered a great deal more than a f*ck*ng scar, I thought.

I can still feel the emotion that rushed through me the minute my company cut my job and the jobs of hundreds of my fellow co-workers, editors and writers. My husband did not have steady work then. It felt as if my insides collapsed. And the only thing I could think is, what will become of my family? My son?

I haven’t gotten a dream job. Instead I’ve been met with stoic faces and sterile business offices. What’s worse than that? I was used to open doors. Now I hit send buttons to email addresses or web addresses. Feedback is getting an acknowledgement that the application was received.

A tough year in my life is defined pulling my son out of his recreation swim classes, county soccer program (which we were able to return to thanks to a friend) and hockey lessons for lack of money.

A tough year in my house is defined by the number of:

• Calls we get from creditors day in, day out.
• The number of holes in my g*dd*mned sneakers before I spent money I did not have to replace them with ones special I found.
• Night’s I’ve sat up crying, praying or simply pacing because I’m out of tears.
• Of rejection letters and emails that assure me I was qualified but they would proceed with other candidates, “but please reapply.”

How much tougher can it get? The truth is, much tougher. And I have not had it much tougher than that. Others have.

A long time ago, the television show “Ally McBeal” had a curious line. When asked by a friend what made her problems bigger than those of others, Ally responded, “They’re mine.”

I hold my troubles close to the vest. And the other columnist? Her troubles are deeply hers and no less painful.

When I step back, I realize how blessed I actually am. We’ve had the loving emotional support of family who has come to our aid, helping to give us a Christmas. My mother-in-law who did everything in her power to make sure her grandson did not suffer, a father-in-law who went to the ends of the earth to find a new tire rim when misfortune struck our car. I have two sisters who fed us during the holidays

I had a friend who handed me cash. CASH. She cleverly suggested I opened her Christmas card at home. I find what in my mind was a staggering amount of cash. I have friends who send me emails with job suggestions and lift me up.

I have a son who rarely if ever complains. I have a husband who holds me when I cry and cheers the loudest when I succeed. We enjoyed a fireworks show for free thanks to our great city and several amazing events at our school, also free.

We’ve enjoyed holiday events, book fairs, even Christmas lights free of charge thanks to the generous nature of local neighborhoods, businesses, shopping malls, cities and our libraries.

And I kick off next year with a return to my college counselor and a job interview.

We are blessed. Perhaps I’ve just allowed myself to get too beaten down. Perhaps I’ve been defined by my problems for too long.

It might just be time to turn the page.

The Homeless Aren't Who We Think They Are

A recent viral video caught my eye the other day.

It was from a young documentarian who gave a homeless man $100 and then followed him. The filmmaker and his crew watched the man go into a liquor store, walk out and head to a local park where he started handing out food he had purchased with the money.

“You thought I was going to get all smacked up drunk?” the man said to the filmmaker who confronted him. The young man apologized and admitted he really did believe he was going to buy alcohol or drugs. But what he found was that the less fortunate man was one of many families who fall into homelessness despite their best efforts.

In reality, before becoming homeless the man had quit his job to take care of his ill elderly parents. They would eventually die and creditors took the home he had shared with them.

Ours is a story of a profession amid tumult. We’re starting over. And that has left us in total limbo and facing homelessness. Today especially has hastened our slide toward homelessness. What has been happening to us seems almost impossible, perhaps implausible.

This year family gave us money as a Christmas gift specifically for the purchase of clothes. With a rare sense of calm, we climbed into our small compact car to head to after Christmas sales to find much needed pants. As we pulled onto the main street, a light signaling low tire pressure signaled a problem with a tire. But the pressure it was signaling was a normal low for a cold, brisk morning.

So head headed toward a gas station to find an air pump. By the time we got to the pump, the pressure had gone down significantly much to our surprise. At the gas station, he checked the tires and found one completely flat.

We were stunned. We became confused after finding a finger-sized hole in one of the tires.

You can guess by now that our hearts sank. I wanted to cry but could not. I’m out of tears. We slowly moved the vehicle a short distance to a Costco tire center. We still have a membership there that our family also paid for.

My husband paid just over $200 for two new front tires. And with that, we lost the Christmas clothes money and then some. We walked around Costco snacking of samples while waiting for the tire center to let us know the job was done.

When they called, it was with more bad news. Workers said they could not replace the tire because the rim had somehow been bent severely enough that the tire itself was not holding air. I felt a deep sadness overwhelm me.

My husband again called family who fortunately have a background in mechanics to relay the news.

The tone of voice from our relative, he would tell me later, sounded like they could not believe what they were being told.

“It wasn’t said, but I think (the family member) was close to saying that if it wasn’t for bad luck, we wouldn’t have any luck at all,” my husband told me later.

We gave out a few precious gifts for Christmas this year. It was a careful balance to give those out as it was. We survived thanks to the generous nature of family and friends. My son received gifts thanks to family, Santa Claus Inc. and an incredibly kind gift from a close friend who wanted to make sure he had a good Christmas.

With this car problem, the rent money we had struggled to gather may not be complete anymore. How much will it cost us to get a new rim? I don’t know. It could be $40 or $200. We don’t know. But this could be the last hurrah.

Before today, my husband and I had held on the hope that we would make it at least through January. Now we’re not sure what’s going to happen.

I often replay in my head is what a small business owner once said to me when I asked him if he had any job openings. He told me he had once had financial difficulties and had to briefly move into his parent’s home. “It was the best thing that happened to me,” he said.

Here’s the problem with that. My parents are both dead. Most of my extended family lives in another country. My younger siblings are struggling financially. One rents a room from a family. Another is married and the couple is raising three children in a two-bedroom apartment. They are packed tightly.

My in-laws are older and unable house us in their home. Another set of in-laws have a nice home but have cats which my son and I are seriously allergic to.

A fourth family member has a home we might be able to move into. But she lives so far away from where we currently live, that I would be forced to give up the 15 hours of work I was finally able to get. It would leave us without a single bit of income. In reality, all of our relatives live far from where we live. We ended up moving far from them in an effort to follow where the work was.

Of course there is a deeper truth at play here. Every single one of the households I mentioned is financially strained right now without exceptions. Taking in another entire family is a large commitment that my husband and I don’t want to heap on anyone.

Dear reader, imagine having to take in a full family yourself. What kind of adjustments would you have to make? Imagine that you were doing it while someone else in your immediate family was already in poor health, facing surgery, difficulties at work or unemployment.

Each one of those households I mentioned is facing one of those scenarios. Moving back with parents is not an option. While there is an option of living with siblings, it certainly would be an added strain for them.

But there is one other choice, which is the most viable, our car. Hopefully it will be in running condition of course.

Even then, I doubt I will panhandle the way the man in the documentary did. I’ve been told it’s a good way to make money. But it’s hard to think that I worked so hard to complete all my college course work so I would end up begging for change anyway.

More importantly, who is going to believe that I am in need? Who’s going to believe that it was a set of circumstances beyond my control that landed me smack in the middle of homelessness? I doubt I’m going to have a filmmaker follow me around. I wouldn’t be that lucky.

Honestly, if it weren’t for bad luck, we wouldn’t have any luck at all.

Reaching a Tipping Point

Desperation came to a Subway sandwich today in my small inland city.

The lady in the pink T-shirt was blond and thin and she was yelling.

“I’ve been out in the streets,” she loudly announced to everyone. “I can’t do it anymore.”

The pace of her diatribe was frenetic and mostly directed at two very young Subway Sandwich employees who stared back in disbelief. A man owed her money, she said. She needed a job, she said. She hated politicians and blamed the president for ruining the country, she said. She vowed never to vote again.

As she spoke, one of the workers, a young man no older than 21 reached into the employee tip jar and offered her $2. There was not much in the jar though he may have gotten more through electronic credit/debit card tips.

That brought the lady in pink’s polemic to a brief halt.

“No,” she said. “You’re a kid. I’m old enough to be your mother. I’ll earn it myself.”

I held back tears. After she had gone I pulled out a few quarters and handed them to the young man. I told him admired his gesture.

I suggested maybe she was ill, maybe not. Maybe she was serious, maybe not. What I did know was how she felt. Only recently had I found a job that offered just a couple of hours a day at minimum wage. It wasn’t near enough to survive but I was fortunate to have it, I told him.

“Maybe,” he answered. “But she filled out a job application and she got a quiz given on the back correct so she’s very smart.”

That woman’s words and her actions weigh heavily on me most of the day. The general sense is that things are improving but in my small segment of the world, some of us are sliding backwards.

I had never seen the woman in pink before she burst into the tiny Subway tucked away in a non-descript commercial center and hidden behind auto body shops.

But hers is far from the only tale of woe I’ve heard over the last few weeks.

So far:

·      A relative was laid off

·      A friend was laid off

·      Another friend is facing eviction

·      Another relative found herself desperately short of what she needed to make a home payment

·      Another relative was forced to quit her job and give up meager earnings because the cost of daycare for her two children became too much.

·      Yet another friend is struggling to find full-time work after being laid off earlier this year

Then there is me.

It’s hard to see beyond my own world. Perhaps there are other places where things are going better. But I’m not sure. The unemployment rate in California is 7.3 percent*. In San Bernardino County it’s 8.2 percent*. In Riverside County the rate is 9.2 percent*. In Orange County, where I was born and raised but left because I could not (and cannot) afford rents, it’s 5.4 percent*.

While the lady in pink shook a fist at politicians, I shake my head at corporations. I shake my fist at their protectors, celebrities, elected officials and political activists alike. I’m angry with anyone who says these corporations owe us nothing and that they are not obligated to help anyone, to employ anyone.

They owe me nothing personally. But they owe this country greatly. Some of them have polluted this land, bankrupted smaller business trading in once high paying experienced positions for minimum wage jobs.

Why can’t Walmart or McDonald’s pay their employees? In McDonald’s case, I have to ask myself if it’s because there is a McDonald’s every mile and a half in my region. They have designed a world where their restaurant jobs are the most prevalent. That’s a lot of employees. And when the goal is feed investors piles of money, is it any wonder the salaries are so low.

Where the rest of us land, only the creator knows. I just hope the resolution comes soon enough to save me and my loved ones … and the lady in pink.

(* August 2014 State Statistics.)