This One May Blow Your Mind – It Did Mine!

I remember this day so very clearly…it was Friday, September 19, 1997. It was a sunny, hot, windy day in Phoenix. It was one of those days that the clouds were light and moving quickly. I was recently divorced and thinking about how miserable life was and wondering if my four kids and I would make it. It was a very unhappy time in my life, to say the least. We were couch surfing at a friend’s house. Ugh!!!

I had an assessment to do in Maryvale – about 59th and Thomas. The lady I was going to assess lived in a little apartment complex. I can see it now, a one-story apartment complex. Leaves were blowing on the sidewalk.

I entered the apartment and there was this sweet, tiny, very elderly woman sitting in a wheelchair. Truly’s primary diagnosis was post-polio syndrome. Glory was Truly’s daughter who lived nearby. Glory was also present for the assessment. As we moved through the questions on the assessment, Glory explained to me that her mother contracted polio when she was a young, married mother of four children. When Truly became ill, her husband left her to fend for herself and her four children. Polio left Truly unable to walk. She was also too poor for a wheelchair or crutches. No one helped!

In order to support her family, Truly would drag herself to work cleaning other people’s houses. Yes, she literally dragged her body down the sidewalk of her town. No one helped! I couldn’t believe it! Glory went on and on about how strong and determined her mother was. Our conversation was friendly, but heavy. This lady, Truly, was absolutely unbelievable in what she had accomplished. This was one of those times in my work that I witnessed the indomitable human spirit. But, apparently there was another spirit at work…

All of a sudden, something came over Truly. It’s hard for me to describe. She sat up boldly in her chair. Her voice, although quavering, was also strong at the same time. Again, hard to describe this scene. Truly started pointing her finger at me, “Let me tell you, dear one. The Lord is bringing a man into your life – a man to love you and nurture you. This man will be like no other man.” She was holding her Bible in her lap and kept hitting it with her hand. She would also wave her hands in the air as she went on and on in this vein. “This man will be kind. He will be faithful. He is for YOU!”

Ugh!!!!

When she finally ceased with her prophecy, I kindly told her that I was not interested in a man – any man. Although I rarely talked about my own life when doing an assessment, I told her briefly that I never wanted to date or marry again.  I dismissed this bizarre event as politely and kindly as I could. “I’m good.”

Oh, that’s when Glory jumped in! “Oh no you don’t, girl. You don’t say no to my momma! When my momma speaks, the Lord speaks, and you better listen!” Glory got up and was pacing and walking around her mother, pretty much ranting at me. “You don’t say no to my momma!”

What planet was I on?

I don’t know how long this went on – 15 minutes? These two ladies pretty much worked me over. I remember leaving and just going, “Wow.” Mind-blowing experience.

But wait, there’s more…

Okay…so fast-forward to March, 1998. Dave Hammerquist and I started hanging out together. We refused to call it dating because neither one of us were interested in dating, marriage, or any other form of being a couple. We were good with being friends and hanging out. However, as time went by, we found ourselves really loving each other. What to do now? We loved each other, were committed to each other, loved each other’s children, but didn’t want to commit, didn’t want to marry. (Most of this is a story for another time). Finally, after much discussion, we decided to marry in May, 1999. Yeah, our resolve didn’t last long.

And, guess what? Everything that Truly said became absolutely true. Truly, absolutely true. I won’t go into all the wonderful aspects of my husband. Suffice it to say, that he’s amazing, kind, devoted, etc.

You may think this is the end of the story…

It must have been later in 1999 or 2000…or maybe after that! I was working at a nursing home in Glendale, doing assessments. I had finished up with my client and came out of her room. Across the hall, I saw the name plate on the patient’s door “Truly Mills.” I couldn’t believe it! It was Truly! I went to the nurses’ station and asked if it was okay for me to visit with Truly. Given the green light, I lightly knocked on the door and entered.

There was Truly, very tiny and weak in her bed. She looked at me and her eyes brightened. It had been years since I had completed her initial assessment. “Do you remember me?” I asked.

“Yes, yes I do! Please, please come sit next to me on my bed.”

I sat next to her and we held hands. Tears welled up in her eyes. Awe darn, tears welled up in mine.

“Truly, do you remember everything you told me about a special man coming into my life?”

She laughed and nodded.

“I married him. He is absolutely everything you said he’d be.”

“It wasn’t me who said he’d be all of that. It was the Lord speaking through me.”

For the next half hour or so, we sat, held hands, talked, cried – enjoyed our time together.

Anyway, my mind was blown. Still is.

Oops! I Did it Again! Kicked Out on the Street

I’m not much of a troublemaker these days, although some would disagree with me. Well, I know my former pastor would disagree with me. He even told me so. But, that’s a story for another time and that’s also why he’s my former pastor. But, that’s not what this blog is about.

My story starts out in small town Arizona. I grew up in what, from the outside, looked like an idyllic little town. When you got past some of the similarities with Stepford, it did have its beauty, if you like desert shrubs and palm trees. In this beautiful village, there was a 5-star resort, an uppity golf and country club, beautiful parks, a recreation center, and a tiny strip mall of small businesses.

In this strip mall called Tierra Verde Village, there was a mom ‘n’ pop grocery store, a dress shop with boutique clothing, a salon, barbershop, bank, post office, real estate office, and a drug store. Let me tell you, there was a lot of awesomeness about this strip mall, but nothing as awesome as the drug store. The drug store was owned by Al and Shirley, who are the parents of my classmate, John H. That store had everything a kid could want – candy, gifts, acne medication, and a soda fountain! That soda fountain (which by the way was where my sister worked for a time) had that old-fashioned feel you would have at Arnold’s on Happy Days. A kid could stop by after school and get a plate of fries, a burger, and a malt…among other things.

What was my mom thinking? She set-up a charge account for my brothers and me. We could stop in and get anything we wanted and charge it to her account. Talk about paradise! I won’t mention the time that I was in 5th grade and bought a suggestive gift for a 5th-grade boy who invited me to his birthday party. Shirley called my mom to let her know and I had to return it. Wait…I did just mention it. Well, here I am off topic on both counts.

Anyway, it was after school and I think I was sitting with Sean W and Jim B. (My memory is pretty sketchy as to whom I was with, but I’m about 75% sure). As we do, we got to talking and we got to laughing. I distinctly remember I had a plate of fries with a ton of ketchup I was devouring. Our laughter turned to disruption. Al, the pharmacist, worked in a caged pharmacy area. He came strolling out, very authoritatively and sternly told us to “Get out!”

I don’t know that I blame him. Our ouster was likely well-deserved.

Fast forward about 15 years or so. It was a hot September day and my boyfriend, Drew, had some family visiting from out-of-town. We thought it would be a great idea to go to Sunsplash with one of his cousins. My kids were with their dad and I was footloose and fancy free. I donned my black French-cut bikini and we were off! We had a great morning of swimming, getting baked in the sun, and whooshing down those water slides.

As afternoon was coming nigh, we started getting hungry – not just hungry, but DAMN hungry! We realized that Waffle House had an all-you-can eat menu and we also realized it was right next door. WINNING!!

The boys were in their swim trunks and I was in my bikini. We were not turned away. Apparently, Waffle House does not have the “No shirt, no shoes, no service” rule. The waitress handed us the menu and we were on our way! As I recall, we were the only customers in the place. Again, my memory isn’t 100%.

All three of us were as thin as could be. They probably laughed when we decided to order the all-you-can-eat special. They had no idea what they had coming. We ordered breakfast, we ordered lunch, we ordered again. We ordered again. After our fifth meal of waffles, chicken, eggs, burgers, fries, and oh-so-much-more, the manager approached us. He was not kind. He came up to us, growled, pointed at the door, and said, “Get out!!”

It made paying our bill awkward. But, we paid, left, and laughed our ever-loving guts out.

Then there was yesterday. I’m now a 54-year-old grandmother with graying hair and a really effed up neurological disorder that affects my vision and my physical abilities (I’m trying to pull on your heartstrings here). I used to travel with my husband, Dave, quite often and now I’m unable to most of the time. However, he recently had a gig come up in Friday Harbor, Washington, which is on San Juan Island. Seeing it as an opportunity to get away together, I went with him. We thought it would be lovely.

Besides all the stress of getting there – not sure of the right equipment, not sure where the customer was located, being the last car on the ferry – everything seemed to go well. We stayed in a dumpy, but adequate hotel. The island is absolutely gorgeous!

The next morning, I was faced with a dilemma: would I stay at the hotel and require Dave to pick me up at check-out time? Or, should I go with him to his customer’s business (I think this looks unprofessional). Or, should I find a coffee shop to perch myself and get some work done? I decided for the coffee shop.

Rocky Bay Cafe was recommended to us by our server from our dinner the night before. So, there we went. Dave, his coworker, and I were the first people there when the doors opened. It was small and quiet. There was just us and another party wanting breakfast. It looked like the perfect place to sit and make a few phone calls and catch-up on a couple of things on the ol’ laptop. When we ordered, I told the server that I would be staying for a while and was that okay? I told her I would order other food and definitely lunch so that I would continue to be a paying customer and not just use their table for free. She seemed okay with that…or was I just imaging that?

Dave and Mark got going and I started my phone calls. It got more and more busy and I started to feel uncomfortable. I was going to ask to order again – something…anything – but the server came by and asked if I would mind moving to a smaller table if they got more busy. I said that was fine. But, the crowd kept coming and they started giving the small tables away. I started to feel the tension. I could feel that I was not welcome. However, I didn’t know where to go. With my vision such as it is, I can’t just get in a car and drive off. I’m in an unfamiliar city where few other businesses are open. I started to feel panicky. When I feel stress or panic, my symptoms get worse. Oh crap, I’m starting to have tremors!

I decided I would ask for another menu and order again. That way, I could pick at the food and at least be throwing them a few dollars so they’re not losing money. But, no. The owner came up and said, “You’re going to have to leave!” There was no kindness or politeness in his tone. He was clearly annoyed. I guess our $35 breakfast was no longer earning me good graces. Even more uncomfortable, I was on the phone with my insurance company – bad timing on my part! (Or, on his part.)

I said, “May I look at the menu again? That way I can order and stay here.”

“No. You need to get out. I’ll put you on a waiting list, but you have to leave.”

I said to the owner (and I wasn’t playing the disability card, I was just honestly explaining my dilemma), “I am disabled. My husband and I thought I could stay here for a couple of hours. I’m willing to order more food and drinks. If I have to leave, it will take me a few minutes to sort out because I will have to call my husband to pick me up.”

He huffed and stomped away.

Feeling clearly unwelcome, I got up to leave. Oh, crap…the stress and upset started ramping up my symptoms. I had trouble walking and had to feel my way to the door. Everyone was looking at me. It was humiliating.

I sat outside for about an hour or so. Dave finally had a break in work to pick me up. The owner of the company where he was working was horrified at how I was treated at the Rocky Bay Cafe. She said that the locals don’t go to that restaurant and that it is “a joke.” She told me to make myself at home and gave me her desk because she was leaving the premises. She was so kind and was a balm to my stinging pride.

 

 

A Veteran Who Should Have Had Better

Back in the day, I worked doing public assistance eligibility. Back then, it was called food stamps, AFDC, AHCCCS, and GA. All of us in the office divided up our caseload by the alphabet so that each of us had a bunch of on-going cases – people we saw every six months to redetermine their eligibility.

Clients would generally come into the office. If you think about it, the eligibility workers probably should be going to the clients. These are sometimes the poorest of the poor and sickest of the sick. Few have vehicles. Some don’t have the physical or mental health to keep appointments.

This was a very rare occasion when I was asked if I would do a home visit for a food stamp eligibility review. I headed south until I got almost to the Gila River riverbed. There was a beat-up, old storage unit erected in the sand, right outside of the river bottom.

I walked up to the storage shed. It smelled of dog feces and filth. I knocked on the side of the shed and was told to “come in!” I entered and saw the most sad and deplorable living conditions I had seen to date (I have seen worse since then). Part of the storage shed was partitioned off where this gentleman had a bunch of stuff stored. There were piles of dog feces all around. And, when I say “all around,” he was living in a space of approximately 6 ft x 4 ft, if that. Someone had hooked up electricity via an extension cord, so he had a hot plate and TV. He sat in an easy chair. He had no bathroom, no running water.

When I talked to him about the eligibility criteria, he told me he had a small VA pension and received social security. I did the calculations and determined he could live in a REAL dwelling for what he was making. Puzzled, I asked him (tactfully) where is money went and why he was living there rather than a mobile home or an apartment. He told me his son “managed” his money and he didn’t see any of it.

God help him. It was terrible. It broke my heart that any human being – especially a veteran – was living in that way. I contacted Adult Protective Services, but I never had the outcome of the investigation (if they did one) reported to me.