Saint Paddy's day Reflection.....

Last St. Patrick's Day I was on Grandma duty. When you're old and dying of Pancreatic cancer, your strength is less than that of a younger person. I was there to help. I had to care for her.

As a tradition, every St. Patrick's day meant Corned Beef and Cabbage - And I was going to make it. I remember standing in the entry way of her room as she began to tell me how to make it. Her frail hands moved only slightly up and down like an imaginary seamstress working the cloth through a sewing machine as she indicated that I needed to make sure the seasoning packet was on the corned beef and to make sure the water was 3/4ths of the pot.

"Bring it to a boil," she said

But I was already on my way back to her kitchen to start the first step. I did not stop to fully listen to her instructions.

"Wait a Minute!" she screeched after me, and the hair on my neck stood on ends, remembering unpleasantly that it was the same screech she used when she called my name.

I sullenly went back, impatiently bouncing from one foot to another, barely listening as she told me more instructions. Why hadn't I listened to her then? The lesson she was teaching should be something I paid attention to. She was after all telling me how to make one of my favorite meals.

Stupidly, I assumed there would be other times. Next year, I would do this again. It didn't even cross my mind that in a weeks time, she would reach her final resting place.

So tonight, I'll be making Corned Beef and cabbage, hoping that the six different recipes I consulted will cook the roast the same way she would have. Not listening to her really made me regret. I can't change what is done, but because I didn't take the time to note all her delicious recipes has taken, it has had its toll on me.

I was her right hand girl in the kitchen so why is it that I can't cook? I should have paid closer attention to what she was saying so that when I was Head of the kitchen, I wouldn't be fumbling around like a 16-year-old boy on his way to second base.

Because now when I get the urge to make Speedy-fruit pie, or I want to know how long to cook a pot roast, I can't just dial her number and ask her the question, because she isn't there to answer. You never listen when someone says "One day you'll regret this" or "Cherish the moments you have..."

Wishing you were somehow here again

It’s been an exceptionally lonely week for me. And while some people were around a little and at times I was surrounded by a lot of people. I’m still feeling this overwhelming loss and loneliness. And for all purposes, with everything going on in my life I should be okay, if not happy.

I’m not broke nor am I struggling to survive, I’m thriving in an environment that was supposed to beat me. And at one point it did. New Jersey’s harshness has shown very little in the way of comfort or help in the attempts to pull myself from the shambles that I have created for myself. The “You’ll never make it” and the “you are a failure” statements have rung exceptionally loud in my ears from my lowest moments and even in my highest. I’m standing on top of this peek and I’m looking out upon this massive world waiting to be invaded and experienced.

I’m struggling only to breathe. Almost a year ago and I’m still struggling to find peace with myself to forgive myself and I can’t seem to do it. I ignored her calls and persistently had disregard to her needs. When she needed me the most, I collapsed under my own selfishness and inability to be strong. I know that I cannot blame myself for the cancer that took her, but I can’t help but take some responsibility for how quickly she went. I was anything but perfect in her eyes, I was a one-girl train wreck that was speeding down wrong track after wrong track, but I was attempting to find the right one with all the experiences I had. And time and time again after I would fall, she would pick me up and try and straighten me out. She tried what she knew how to do and I learned my lessons from tough love. I may have come out with a few scars and insecurities, but I’m still standing here today.

I fight each day for her. To prove that I can do it and so that in the end I can say that she is one of the people who is responsible for what I have become today. So that I can look back on my troubled past and know that I’ve fought hard to be where I am. But I’m having a rough time fighting this loneliness.

A Customer Service Rant...

Do the people who call into my place of business even realize that I could be a potential customer before they rip into me and say the shit they do? Does it even occur to them as Business owners, that they should treat people with respect regardless of their anger? As a customer service representative I am trained to allow comments to roll off like water off a ducks back. But there is only so much rudeness a person can take before they want to scream into the phone to FUCK OFF.

Today, I spoke with a lady who worked for Ken's Restaurant in Chicago, IL - She was by far the worst person I have spoken with in a long time, trying to use her management position at a restaurant get to me. And quite frankly it worked. She was charged, but the person that my company spoke with was not an authorized party so I canceled the account and issued the credits for the charges she received. She then demanded that she hear the tape of the conversation between an employee of hers and my company, of which I complied. She then proceeded to tell me that I, and my company was single handily responsible for the firing of said employee.

This was the straw that broke the camels back. I was irritated before because she wanted my assistance but wouldn't let me explain. Do not call me asking me questions and then not allow me to answer. And second, regardless of your anger, you do not blame me for you taking this out on your employee because you're an ass. Especially considering what I did for you. I did NOT have to give you your money back, legally, I do not have to do shit, however, as a customer service representative I have the compassion and understanding that sometimes a rep, who is not me may not speak clear enough for a person to understand what is being said. And that the person taking the call does not have the sense to ask them to slow down or repeat what they have said. And furthermore, this was after I have expressed that it was just a misunderstanding and I had apologized for the problem. Did you not get that I also resolved your issue? To me, this just makes you a vindictive ass hole on a power trip and as a potential customer I am completely turned off by your attitude. On a consumer side, I would be disturbed to have you be the person providing a service. And yes, I could be a potential customer, as she does not know where I live.

It's the kind of situation that makes me want to walk into the business and speak to the person in person and say."I was going to dine here but after a very unpleasant experience, I think I'd rather have my retinas torn out through my esophagus." Businesses rely on word of mouth and right now, my word of mouth would not be helping you very much.

The second thing I hate is when people call me and I will inform them of the contact and they will inform me that I am wrong and that this person would NEVER do what they have done. This irritates me to no end, do not speak for other people. That is a big pet peeve of mine. When people go off saying "Oh So-and-So would never do that..." and then I play the recording where So and so is CLEARLY doing what they would NEVER do. It makes me want to punch the person in the face and say HAH! Fuck you. Get over your ego and accept that it happened, I'm not making you responsible for the fucking charge or if there is no charge, I AM going to cancel the account, so just get the fuck over it and give me a chance to explain how I am going to assist you after I give you the information on WHY you got a letter/charge. Because, I will assist you.

My policy is to make the customer happy and that means doing whatever it takes and issuing as much credit as humanly possible. If you see 8 months of charges you will get 8 months of credit back from me. I'm in it for you. But do not question my morals and business practices because you're pissed off. When these people question my business practices, I have to question theirs. I have a list of places I will never go and never use because I base my opinions solely on the customer service that is provided.

Remember, being nice gets you further, being a dick head, gets you put on hold so I can file my nails, but first I have to run to the store to buy the nail file. Enjoy that hold time.

haunt the house of history and listen anew to the ancestors' wisdom.

It’s interesting what causes a persons wheels to turn. I was filling out this stupid little survey that comes up with creative ways to show different aliases a person would go by. For example, if you mix your middle name and the town you were born in, it would be your Soap Opera name. Mine was Marie Tucson. I got to one particular one where it asked me for the name of my grandmother on my moms side and my grandfather on my Dad’s side. It was supposed to be my NASCAR name, except; I couldn’t really answer the question correctly.
The only real things I know about my dad’s father is that he was called Red because of his Irish roots, he had very red hair. I also knew that he and my dad’s mom, my other grandmother were divorced. The only memory I have of my Dad’s mother is that she used to make cheesecake or have cheesecake when we went to visit her. She lived in a motel off of Benson highway.
And then, this all got me thinking about how little I really know about my dad’s side of the family. I know he has siblings and I’ve met some of them and some of them I never knew.
There is my Uncle Mike, who I’ve always know and has always been somewhat of a drifter, unable to grow up and continually in with the wrong crowd, but he always told me I was beautiful and that I should never think less than that.
Then there was my Aunt Louise, my only memories of her were that she had really long hair and was the person who took me to the library for the first time and got me a library card. I don’t know what age I was, but I vaguely remember doing it.
Aunt Katie, who one day when I was walking home from the bus stop pulled up next to me in a white van and asked me if I knew who Teresa Welch was, I said I did, and then she asked me where she lived, I was a little scared but I remember pointing towards the property that held the trailer I was heading into. Teresa was my mother, and then I told Katie that. She then asked me who I was Cassie or Jennie and I told her I was Jennie and that’s when she introduced herself as my Aunt Katie, Don’s (My dad) sister. I remember she had a daughter, but I can’t remember her name, only that she has a strange obsession with the characters Pain and Panic from Disney’s Hercules. And if I remember correctly, she lived somewhere in Alabama, or maybe it was Mississippi? It was a southern state
And then there was my Uncle Butch, I’m not sure if that is his real name, but I don’t recall ever meeting him. Or anything about him, and I think he’s actually dead now, but I can’t be sure.
Why is this part of my life so detached and unfamiliar? On my mother’s side I knew a lot of family and relatives. I spent many holidays with cousins and my grandparents Jean and Mike from my mom’s side. I know that 1st name was taken from my grandpa’s great great grandmother (Maybe there was one more great, or maybe one less) and I know that Marie is the name of an Aunt on my grandmother’s side and that she lived near D.C. I know that my grandpa grew up in Tennessee and that he supported his mother even after he had my aunt, uncle and mom.
I know a lot of little tidbits about my mother’s side of the family, a lot more than I can even imagine knowing of my dads. I don’t ever recall not knowing. For example, with my grandma’s side I know these people existed, some of them were Just known as “Great Grandma Crawford” or “Great Grandma Burba.” I feel a little detached without this knowledge of my dad’s side of the family. Like my family tree isn’t very complete and pieces are broken. I feel silly about all this, but the historian inside of me loves to know things like that.
I wish I could ask my dad, but some of it is hard to do. When someone is diagnosed mentally ill, It’s hard to ask questions about family, his family. I know he’s very proud of his children, and I know that he loves his siblings, but I’m not sure his childhood or family life is something he likes to talk about. It’s like I grew up without a father, except I didn’t and he was a great father despite the obstacles he faced, he did the best he could with what he had and the Hurricane force of nature that was my mother.
It’s not like I had nothing, I’m very thankful for the family I did have and did know about. I just wish I had more pieces to my puzzle.

Starting from Scratch.... again..

You take for granted when you have everything in your house at your fingertips when you're living at home or have already started a collection. I had a place back in Tucson - this place had all the staples one might need. We had spices, we had peanut butter, we had dishes and cutting knives. We had mixing bowls, and pots, we had pans for frying, we had spoons, forks and butter knives. We had everything one person might need in a kitchen and I stupidly left this all behind when I made the cross country trek.

Now I find myself thinking "I guess I'd better get peanut butter if I want peanut butter toast." Even staying with my friend as I had been, had an already established household. So the staples were already there, or at least they're what I call the staples. I only had to buy certain baking things because, well these boys don't bake, hell you'd be lucky if they even cooked with their busy on-the-go lifestyles.

Having moved all of my stuff into the house I set out to tackle the next task, I needed to buy groceries so that I wasn't stopping for fast food or grabbing a meal from the convenience store all the time. I made a list and attempted to conquer it. I was so excited because I had gotten some cereal that I really liked and hadn't had in a while and I even had milk that wasn't expired. And when I got home to my despair, I realized; I hadn't thought to buy bowls and the cups I had wouldn't hold much. That's when I realized I had reached a new "Ghetto-starving-student" low. I started eying the smallest sauce pan figuring that would work perfectly as a cereal bowl, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.