"All The Time In The World?"

“All The Time In The World?”

 

07/16/14

 

As always, to my dearest friends, and ever-constant, loyal readers,

 

When I was very, very young, the calendar year was fixed, immutable, carved as if from stone.

There was the school term (Which—by the way—I loathed, thinking it a colossal waste of time.)  I may as well have had A.D.D., as I could not be kept to my desk, preferring-instead to look out the windows.  All my report cards from that time seemed to echo the same sentiments.

 And then, there were the blissful summers; of dawn-to-dust playing, discoveries and adventures.  The imagination could be expressed a thousand, different ways.

Once, I found and empty cardboard box which would just fit into my wagon. Into this, I cut holes for windows, and spent a pleasant afternoon down by a creek in my own mobile home! I even think I took a nap there, lulled to sleep by the rush of the creek waters.

 

But, all the summer’s fun and games ground quickly to a halt when—at fourteen—I began my first ever job; I worked in a grocery store after school on Fridays until 10:30 p.m., and all day on Sunday, from 7:30 a.m. until 11:30 or twelve, when we had to mop and clean the store.

Usually, I was out front, sacking groceries.

All for the then-princely sum of $1.10 an hour.  A tip of a dime was considered generous.

 

I did earn a couple of things, which were but an overture to jobs and employment later:

1. Sixteen hours on my feet conferred a kind of exhaustion that twelve hours of play never could.
2. From the ire of my customers, I quickly learned to never pack a loaf of bread or carton of eggs in the bottom of the paper bag!
3. More importantly, it proved to be my first introduction to ‘management ‘of a limited—yet profound scope of authority beyond, even, that of my Dad’s.  At this store, the assistant manager was nice, who ‘ruled’ with a benign hand.

The store manager—in contrast—ran the store with whip, and threats, constantly urging us to hurry, or be replaced.

I barely can remember his face now, but it seemed lined and etched with pure meanness.

 

 

Thus began a thirty-four year series of job moves, and career changes; on several occasions, I worked two jobs at once, sleeping not at all, or, never, ever having a day off.

Salaries—especially in Florida—have never been what I’d call munificent; but, one did what one could…or had to do, particularly when it became time to support myself.

I remember being so broke, that I had to roll pennies to get just-enough gasoline to get to the bank to cash my check.

 

But my priority (then and now) was to keep a roof over my head.  One year, I went without food in the house, eating a free sandwich at work at night. In the morning—in the cafeteria line, I could get two scoops of scrambled eggs, and a piece of toast for $0.20.

As long as I had a place to come home to…

 

My entire, little, clockwork life crumbled-around me in 2002.  I’ve already mentioned a stupid, botched and unnecessary dental procedure left me in an upward spiral of agony I could no longer bear; and I began to have uncontrolled panic attacks with severe depression.

 

After I had tried to return to work (unsuccessfully), I realized that—somehow, someway—I needed to file for disability.

 

Having heard of others unsuccessful applications, I hired an attorney to file for me.

 

One morning, I found myself before a Judge, with a Court Reporter to his left, a Supervisor from D. C. and F., and—to complete the circle, a Florida Employment Specialist.

I answered the Judge calm, slowly, made eye contact, and did not once vary from the truth.

 

After an extensive question and answer period which riled my nerves, the Judge asked if I would ever be able to work again.

The Florida Employment considered the matter, and then stated that….no, I would not be able to work.

 

And what a strange feeling it was to be told to not work!  In my employment history, I had applied numerous times for jobs I never got.  But to be told I would never be able to work again?  At first, I exhaled nervously; in a way relieved, and in a way labeled some kind—to me—second, or third-rate citizen.

That was in 2002.

 

What I could not have foreseen would be the cavalcade of subsequent illnesses which only added to being unemployable.

There was that year of suffering before I had my appendix removed at the very last moment.

 

 

Along the way, other ‘conditions’ developed such as diabetes type II; Fibromyalgia; Lupus; CFS; CPS; crushed vertebrae, and broken ribs from falling;  orthostatic hypertension; depression, anxiety, and panic attacks; agoraphobia.  The need for oxygen 24/7.  And—most recently—incipient blindness in both eyes.

My sleep is disrupted in a thousand ways; and the PTSD and Headaches pretty much sums up the list.

 

And I am dependent on number of medications merely to remain in place.

 

When I had occasion to contemplate old, past summers, I remember a balmy, summer night in Texas; it was late, but there were no curfews.

Some of the neighbors and my Mother and Father gather-together to perhaps discuss issues of the day; I could just seem them out on the breezeway of the house, with Dad’s cigarette glowing in the semi-darkness.

The neighborhood kids and I rode our bicycles down sidewalks, and across driveways, the sky-above an inverted inky bowl of twinkling, yellow stars.

 

Suddenly, we found ourselves amid an enormous swarm of lightning bus, whose little light merged with the stars above.

 

I was nine years old.

 

And yet, if pressed to try to remember that one day, that singular situation that made such an ethereal impression, I would have to say that night was the stuff of which pure wonderment is made.

Life doesn’t get any better, or sweeter than that!

 

Perhaps your most favorite day might be the birth of a child, or grandchild.

 

And I would kindly ask you to look inside to find your all-time favorite day…ever. Please share it with us in the comment section, below.

 

Now that I have just passed my sixtieth birthday, I realize that I have more time to look back than to look forward.

How much ‘time’ I have left…nobody save the Creator Spirit knows.

 

So I think it would behoove us to wisely use the time that we do have left.  Maybe being kinder, more thoughtful, more understanding.  Maybe, to forgive ourselves, even as we would forgive others.

 

 

Please know that I wish for you no pain, no sense of want, need or despairing.  May your kind hearts be filled with hope and…love!  And, blissful nights of restorative sleep, as ever watched over by gentle angels.

 

Since I have still having problems with my computer, please, please forgive me should I—in error—print it over (and, over) again.

 

Please know that I think about you always, and that I love you dearly!

 

‘Zahc’/Charles