I didn't make the cut at Wally World. They posted the schedule 5 days late, on a Friday afternoon, then, HR slunk away home so as not to hear the cries of the unchosen. My name was simply excluded from the schedule. I knew I was temporary, but I had so hoped that they would want to keep me...

Worst case scenario: I was not cut out to be a cashier at Wally World.

But, I have 5 more days scheduled...up until the Thursday after Christmas, and I cannot be on line when I need to be preparing body and soul to go to my latest dead-end job...

I've gone and caught myself a really bad cold...the kind of cold that makes me have to fall asleep with bits of tissue in my nose, because when I lie down, well...snot is running down my nose a la "Aqualung."

After awakening this morning, I walked past a pup sitting in my chair and croaked "Hi Baby!" to her as I passed, and as my own virus-altered voice fell upon my ears I stopped cold in my tracks. Mine was the voice of my father! Immediately, and I let out a wail, and doubled over in pain from sorrow.(Scared the poor old dog a bit). It sounded like my Daddy saying "Hi Baby" as he so often did in greeting, and the pain still stabs my very heart, I miss him so much.

My sisters are suffering, and I know Mark is in pain as well. Our first Christmas without Dad-will it ever get any easier? Or will I (we) finally become stronger, someday, somehow...

That was Daddy's voice I spoke with, saying "Hi Baby" to my Boxer, Peggy Sue...was that the sign that sweet angel Jan is seeking, unbelieving that Dad would cross over without sending us a sign that he was all right? Albeit, in reality, it was just my mucous encrusted voice speaking the first words at the dawn of my 3rd day with a terrible cold-but it was the voice of my father, nonetheless, coming out of my mouth. The immediate pain washing over me in recognition, undeniable and complete. And here, I had been doing so well...

So, let's open up the literature Hospice sent me to help me to get through the Holidays without even a phone call from my long lost Daddy...a business card, a personal note encouraging me to call if I need more help. Here is a little book, "Living When A Loved One Has Died" by Earl A Grollman. At first glance, it looks like easy reading, not very many words on any given page, skimming through it, I am reminded of a book of short poems,

"Since you may believe that the
person who died was perfect
and powerful, you wonder why
he or she did not use
extraordinary powers to stay alive..."

No, that doesn't fit. But poor Jan wonders why she cannot see a sign from Dad, their father/daughter bond was so strong, so full of love, she cannot believe that he would leave her without letting her know that he was OK. Ahhhh, Babay Girl...God has left you signs to let you know Daddy is with Her...they are all around. They are right in front of you, maybe it is you, sweet child, who cannot see.

Finally, a quotable quote:
"There is no short cut in
the mourning process.

It must be worked through."

No new news with that one, but I am thinking that Jan will see a "sign" when she lets herself see a sign...and there is no short cut to that sighting.

"When death comes, life is
examined"

"A wise member of the clergy once said.
'I believe that God forgives you.

The question is:
Will you forgive yourself?"

Dad drank a great deal of Scotch all of his life. He ordered "Old Smuggler's" by the case, defending his large purchases by quoting how much money he saved by ordering in bulk. Almost 2 bottles were free when he ordered by the case..."You can't beat that," he's say with his elf-face grinning, his brown eye winking...It broke his heart when I had to stop drinking. It was a physiological thing, not a wise decision when I stopped imbibing...A single drink presented a migraine, and I just had to stop. So sad and funny, to look back and know that Dad's feelings were hurt, that he thought I quit to guilt trip him. It wasn't that way at all in the beginning, but very quickly, seeing the drunken masses with sober eyes, it did turn out to be that way. I just could not be around drunken parties, without feeling irritable and pissed off. I changed. And I keep changing.

So, life is change...the only news there is that the change itself is always new...and "you've got to roll with the punches to get to what's real..."(yup, Van Halen)

Losing Daddy is a blow below the belt. Mom, in a wheelchair with the mind of a bewildered 6 year old is a blow below the belt. Mom isn't gone, but she is rarely here, either. She is amazingly congenial, happy just to be.

It is only a hard season if I allow it to be so...work, work, work...I have to start getting ready for work-work which keeps my mind preoccupied. The other night a lady came through my line whose face was familiar...we hemmed & hawed...she know me, as well, but neither of us knew from where we had met. Eventually, we realized she was a co-worker and friend of my mother's...I blurted out" My mother is very happy," almost defensively, then felt obligated to let her know Mom was in a nursing home, and content to be so. There were tears in my eyes and a stabbing in my heart, but I kept working, because it is what keeps me sane...

It will be a blow if Wally World does not keep me after the holidays, but if that be the case, again, I will roll with it. That's what life is...

Hospice called my cell as I was driving down a busy street yesterday. I missed the call, pulled over to a side street curb, didn't recognize the number, but returned the caller's call right away. They wanted to know how I was handling the Holiday Season with the recent loss off my father..

I do pretty good unless I stop to dwell on my sorrow, thank you very much-I might not have cried at all that day had they not called. As it is, even Cecile, my mental health therapist cried with me. Cecile lost her mother over the summer as well. We are so different (She, an ex-nun shunning television, computers, complications and me, a settled old Dead head with a history of embracing one questionably dangerous pastime after another...me, with the strong tendency to seek out a problem where more than likely, there was none before).

Learning my new job during the Christmas Season at Wally World during the Christmas Season is rough. But some days, I have had fun all day long in spite of myself and the angry shoppers. Few folks are happy at WW-they just want shopping over with and want out, and poorly trained cashiers holding them up pisses them off tot he max, when they can see the Exit door so close...So, it has been trial by fire, sink or swim. Sometimes, I think that I am getting the swing of it, other times, I make a huge blunder that keeps me awake in the night.

I just want to work. It keeps me busy, provides an income, allows me to contribute. I gave a baggie full of change, mostly pennies, but many nickels, dimes and quarters to The Salvation Army Bell Ringer out in front of WW's doors. Plan to do it again, today. Change we save up over time and dip into at this time of the year...trying to feel good about myself, yet, missing it by ---------that much. I get so nervous over this job...fearing the worst, when really , the worst is probably over. I am no longer in horrible pain from 8 hours of standing-my body appears to have adjusted. If I am pointedly aware of body mechanics while searching for that elusive correct bar code to scan, then I rarely hurt myself...nothing an heating pad during the night won't help.

Many of the old WW employees grumble over the fact that WW is continually stripping their employees of former benefits. I had nothing to lose, as I have lost it all so many times over, throughout the years of my life, that I can spare any one my own grumbling. Sure, they keep me under 40 hours so that do not have to pay benefits, and if I get to stay, they will continue to do so for as long as they can. It is the way of the world these days. Why gripe about it? My medical bills have at times been through my roof, but I abide. I am still here. Sometimes, even smiling...I am still standing...and standing, and standing...whew!

This not knowing if they will keep me after the holidays is a mind flip trip as well. Again, I have to live in the moment, take what comes and hope to learn from it. If they do not want to keep me-wow!that will smart! But I surely am no whiz kid, although I am trying, smiling, showing up as scheduled trying to be as little trouble as possible. One day at a time, one day at a time...

This is a week of 1/2 days which will make the pay check bite, but has eased the tension during this rough time. However, Saturday, I go back to full days and keep it up through Christmas. I have never worked the same hours 2 days in a row. How strange that they schedule us in this manner-is it a test of sorts, I wonder?

I recently went nuts on Mark's blog...my bad, and I hope someday that he can forgive me. I think it is a deep physchological problem that I have. My mother was in a deep depression during Mark's youth and while I was still at home, I did my best to try and mother the younger kids when I could. So, I feel anyway that I helped to raise them a little bit. I wrapped Christmas presents, hid Easter Eggs, fixed many a flopped dinner. Then, when I was 18, I just left town, as I saw my parent's marriage dissolving. It was time for me to start my own independence and life, but never realized that I was really abandoning my siblings to wade through the folk's divorce on their own. I just kn we that I could not stay any longer in the at little town. I had to get out before I was barefoot and pregnant, and I had to see the world on my own. Since I have come home and Mark has moved away, I have grasped the strings of our tenuous relationship too strongly for anyone's good. I want him to be someone he is not, and I want to be close to him, but as we live in literally different worlds, we are not close as I would like. When I read he was in dire straights, I thought only throwing money at him would help, but as I had no money, I threw excuses at him in a fit of hysteria trying to explain why I could be of no help at all, all the while being now help at all. I cannot get over putting my foot in my mouth. I hope one day, when he has the time, he can get over my botching his blog.

Our Alzheimer's riddled mother remains reminiscent of a 6-yr-old invalid mostly content with whatever is happening. She knew my sister as her daughter last week, but such recognition comes and goes with me. I am still a familiar face, but she is often unsure just of who I am. More than likely from a lifetime of keeping out of town and giving a decade of my life to a man that was jealous of family ties and forbid them. She remains happy to see us visit, happy to see us go. Her appetite is wanning, her congestion from a life time of smoking (COPD) is less than it was last month...but the sad parts come from where you least expect it. She forgets to fill the spoon and bring it to her mouth, she forgets to chew, she forgets to swallow. She scares the crap out of us mimicing aspiration, if not actually experiencing it...it is so hard to tell.

I wanted to check in...now I want to check out. I want to do a little exercise before an afternoon/early evening of work hoping it will boost my self confidence in some way once at work. I have unfortunately fallen off the exercise wagon since I got the job. Really, it is the worst thing that I could do for myself, so I best quit doing it.