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My Opinion on topics

Gimme a Head with Hair:  My Own

I think every woman should have a daughter. Take my daughter, for instance. Some might say that when she was a tot, she was a mini-me. But as children do when they grow older, she came into her own. And now the tables have turned. Wherein I used to advise her about fashions and hairstyles, now she encourages me to become more contemporary. That’s difficult to do when you are comfortable being old-school and not much for fakery.

Mind you; I’ve worn my hair in a short afro for what seems like a hundred years; except for a few weeks last year when I deviated from my natural and decided to try something different. Recently, I stepped out of my zone again and accompanied my daughter to her favorite weave salon. After we left there, she jokingly told me that I would probably not be allowed back in that shop, because of the way I “coached” the hairdresser working on my head.

“No, that’s too much hair.” “Uh-uh. That’s too long, cut it down.” “Twist it more to the left.” “I need a style with a bang to cover my high brow.” And those were just some of my well-meaning directives.

Undoubtedly, the thought of grabbing some clippers, shearing off every strand on my head and then saying, “How do you like it now?” occurred to the stylist more than once. But, during the two hours that I sat in her chair while she cornrowed and weaved until I was satisfied (or so she thought), she was professional and patient. And I’m sure the tip I handed her afterward made enduring my complaining worth it.

Need I say that I finally yielded to the suggestion of the stylist and left the shop with a style that I believed had me looking more like Whoopi Goldberg than myself? I had no problem with the cornrows in the back. That’s what I asked for. However, the stylist could not get the front of my hair to look the way it did in a photo that I showed her. In fairness, she tried, but whenever she thought she was done and said, “Nice.” I shook my head and replied, “Ugh. Not so.”

Finally, after growing tired of her snipping and clipping, I relented. The stylist seemed pleased (or relieved). My daughter said it was a nice do. And I felt … well, let’s say that the hairdo is not me. To add insult to injury, my daughter snapped a photo of Whoopi-Me while we were on the way home.

Afterthought:  Years ago, after I left the workforce, I freed myself from being a slave to facial makeup. Just like my daily commute, the every morning application of face paint has become another thing gladly left in my past. Now, I only wear makeup on rare occasions. However, while sitting at my dining room table grumbling over dissatisfaction with my hairdo, even with it swept to one side, and contemplating what to do with it, I had a lightbulb moment.

I decided to see if makeup would make me feel better about my hairstyle, so I applied some. Low and behold, as it often does for most women, the makeup transformed me from I hate it – to – I can live with it. As you can see from the before photos (Numbers 1 and 2) and the three subsequent photos, I look like I feel better about the hairdo. And I do. Nevertheless, I am certain that sometime sooner more so than later, I will wake up one morning and decide that I’ve had enough. I’ll want the real me back, and my ultra ego will stop humming the song from the musical Hair. “Darlin’, give me a head with hair, long beautiful hair.”

 

 

 

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Reflections from the Other Side of the Hill

With retirement and advancing age comes the blessing of no longer having to play the games. What games? You ask. There are many. Some of them are easily eliminated when you are, as people like to refer to it, “over the hill.” But I will reflect on a couple.

Let’s start with working outside the home. When the opportunity to take an early retirement presented itself, I took it, albeit with some reluctance and much apprehension. Now, nearly ten years later, I consider myself blessed to have experienced an early retirement. Unfortunately, some people don’t live to see those carefree days.

Unless I fall-down on my luck, I can kiss-off job interviews, the workforce, and PITA (pain in the ass) bosses. Clarification is required here. Not all bosses are PITA. During my years spent in corporate America, I had some wonderful managers. I can honestly say that I loved at least one of them like a father. I worked for that man for ten years until he retired after which I found myself back in the labor pool swimming with the sharks and the backstabbers. Don’t get me wrong, I mingled with many good-hearted and wonderful people, too, and made some life-long friends.

Some of my worse memories are of being in a subordinate position to a couple of obviously unqualified managers whose negative character traits including racism and sexism were as evident as dog poop on the sidewalk. My job history and years of watching the gamers play taught me that just because someone has a prominent job title does not mean that he or she is qualified, proficient or principled. Intelligence is not always a requirement for a high position either. Anyone with the right backing and a base, no matter how unstable, can land the job. You could even become president.  Males are not always the culprits in the workforce either. Some women with authority can be more vicious than men.

I entered the workforce as a volunteer candy-striper at the long ago demolished Freedman’s Hospital, and I remained in the labor force for nearly 50 years. During the time before my escape to retirement freedom, I had some dream jobs and some duds. Now, I have no more demanding bosses, annoying co-workers, performance reviews, office politics, and boring staff meetings. And I have the opportunity to work from home when I want to.

While retirement brings some challenges – such is life – I find that the advantages outweigh the disadvantages and as with everything maintaining a positive attitude is key.

Another game that I am happy to be out of is the dating game. Regardless, of the present-day dangers, the dating game is fun, exciting, and deemed essential for Gen Xers and Millennials. But for many mature adults with whom I have discussed the subject and who are old enough to remember when it was safer to wade into the dating pool, courting now is more hassle than it is worth. Even if my near 20-year relationship should end for whatever reason, (some things like death and taxes are beyond our control), then I am done with dating. If I have learned nothing else in all of my years, it is that I can be quite content by myself, doing my own thing.

There are numerous other rules of the game that can be tossed aside in retirement. I don’t have to worry about the routine of going to bed early or setting an alarm clock to get up in the morning. Barring unforeseen circumstances, I can get up when I want, go where I want to go, do what I want to do. I don’t have to put on work clothes every day, and I don’t have to deal with a daily commute and rush-hour traffic.

Above all, I have time to pursue the things that I enjoy, like learning new things, furthering my education, exercising, reading and writing.

My bucket list is rather short. It is not a copy of someone else’s objectives:  travel the world, ride a hot air balloon, participate in running with the bulls in Spain, or hike the Appalachian Trail. Topping my list is (1) remain spiritual, (2) maintain a positive attitude and (3) avoid letting negative people ruin my day. You see, what I mean? My list is uncomplicated and original, just like me.

More to come on the games of life in future posts.

 

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The Wait: A Customer Service Hold-Time Horror Story

Customer ServiceThe other day, I called the Social Security office to ask one simple question. When could I expect to receive my 1099 form? After several rings, my call was answered by an interactive voice response system (IVR), commonly referred to by us laypeople as a recorded message. As soon as I heard it, I knew that getting a simple answer to a simple question might take a little time. But I had no idea that I would become a casualty of phone system hell. This is my record of the call.

IVR: Your wait period is approximately 50 minutes.

Me:  FIFTY MINUTES! I shouted in my mind. Are you kidding me? Thinking that perhaps I had misheard – surely the robot said 15 minutes, not 50 – I decided to wait. I looked at the clock. It was 8:55 a.m.

Holding the phone with my left hand, I leaned back in my chair, grabbed the TV remote with the free hand and began channel surfing.

After a few minutes, I started paying closer attention to the messages.

9:09 – IVR:  Thank you for holding. We appreciate your patience. We are assisting other people and will help you as soon as we can.

When my clock displayed 9:10, I put the phone on speaker, set it on my desk, began filing my nails and reminiscing about the days when customer service meant person-to-person, not person-to-machine. Usually, after the second ring, the third at most, a real person would answer the phone, especially in government offices. You remember those days, don’t you?

It’s frustrating enough to be put on hold for an extended period, but when an IVR holds you hostage, you feel helpless. You don’t dare hang up and call back because you will just have to repeat the process.

It used to be that a caller could press zero to bypass the gibberish and be immediately connected to a live person. But businesses got wise to that and eliminated the feature, leaving callers no choice but to hold, and wait, and hold, and wait.

Some companies will place callers in a phone queue, sort of a virtual waiting room, offering them the option of remaining on the phone while they wait for an answer or receiving a callback. The Social Security system did not give me that option. And so I waited.

In the interim, I entertained myself by playing Words with Friends. I checked my Facebook page. I even perused my emails. Finally, I began recording the messages that rotated every 60 seconds.

9:15 – IVR:  Thank you for holding. We appreciate your patience. We are assisting other people and will help you as soon as we possibly can.

ME:  We’ll see. Holding the phone with one hand, I impatiently began tapping my fingers on the desk with the other.

9:16 – IVR:  We apologize for this delay if you are calling for general information. If you are applying for retirement, disability or spousal benefits, you may want to visit us at www.social security.gov.

ME:  Idiots! If you answer the phone, I would tell you that I cannot log on to the www.stupidsite. If I could do you think I’d be wasting my time calling you?

9:17 – IVR:  We regret that you have waited so long.

ME:  The hell you do.

IVR:  We are doing our best to answer your call. Social Security provides benefits to more than 50 million. We are taking calls in the order in which they came.

ME:  You said that already. Uh huh. Sure. I was determined to out-wait them.

9:18 – IVR:  Thank you for holding.

ME:  Oh, good. They’re finally going to answer.

IVR:  We appreciate your patience.

ME:  What!

IVR:  We are assisting other people and will help you as soon as we possibly can.

ME:  You’ve got to be kidding me.

9:19 – IVR:  At the conclusion of your call we would like you to participate in a short survey and tell us about your experience.

ME:  Oh, yes. Don’t I want to do that!

IVR:  If you would like to participate in the survey, please stay on the line after the agent hangs up.

For the first time following the previous messages, I hear four fast beeps. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. That’s different, I think. Surely, a sign that someone is about to answer my call. I wait anxiously while watching the numbers on my digital clock flip over.

9:20 – IVR:  Thank you for waiting. Someone will assist you shortly. Please have handy your Social Security number and any recent mail we have sent you. Having this information will help us to serve you better.

ME:  Here we go. Finally!

9:21 – IVR:  We apologize for this delay if you are calling for general information. If you are applying for retirement, disability or spousal benefits, you may want to visit us at  www.socialsecurity.gov.

ME:  Are you kidding me?

9:22 – IVR:  We regret that you have waited so long. We are doing our best to answer your call. Social Security provides benefits to 50 million. We are taking calls in the order in which they came.

ME:  Sitting in stunned silence and disbelief that I’ve been holding on the line for nearly 30 minutes. A first. And – a last.

9:23 – IVR:  Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. (Then, there is a pause.)

ME:  What’s with the beeps? No message following? I know someone is going to pick-up now.  I’m preparing to stand up and do a happy dance. When I hear…

IVR:  Thank you for holding. We appreciate your patience. We are assisting other people and will help you as soon as we can.

ME:  Wearing a zombie-like expression.

9:24 – IVR:  At the conclusion of your call we would like you to participate in a short survey and tell us about your experience. If you would like to participate in the survey, please stay on the line after the agent hangs up.

ME:  Oooh, Buddy. You DO NOT want me to take the survey. Not now.

9:25 – IVR:  Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Thank you for waiting. Someone will assist you shortly. Please have handy your Social Security number and any recent mail we may have sent you. Having this information will help us to serve you better.

ME:   Now talking to the IVR. How many times are you all going to replay these */%#  messages? As much as I hate on-hold music, I’ll opt for that now.

9:26 – IVR:  Thank you for holding. We appreciate your patience. We are assisting other people and will help you as soon as we can.

 Those same messages recycled repeatedly until at 9:55, just as I was about to hang up, a real live human came on the line.

Human:  May I help you?

Me:    I took a deep breath and did not fly off the handle because I knew he might be expecting that and I didn’t want him to hang up on me. So, I said calmly said through gritted teeth, “I’m calling to inquire about my 1099 form.”

I had barely finished the sentence before Human in a robotic tone said, “The 1099 forms are being mailed from headquarters throughout the month of January. You should receive your 1099 before the end of the month. Is there anything else I can help with?”

Thank you. No. Click!

Had I not recorded the times and IVR messages, I would not have believed that I had held the phone for an hour for a conversation that lasted about 45 seconds. My first and last time doing a phone marathon.

At least the SS IVR does not add insult to the injury of phone hang-over customers by including “Your call is important to us.”

And no, I did not take the survey.

 

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Contemplating Death and Dreams

Doorway To Heaven Or HellSome people consider dreams as just a random string of thoughts, which we may not even remember upon awakening. And then there are those who believe in psychic dreams, where future events are revealed to us while we sleep. My mother had such a dream before her death. I had forgotten about it until recently when I began rereading some of my journal entries.

Mother’s doctor had her hospitalized on the day that she and the rest of her family learned she was terminal. Within weeks, unrelenting, she told her doctor, the hospital staff, her visitors, and anyone else who would listen that she wanted out of that hospital. She wanted to go home.

After my dad died in August 2006, mother, always the independent-minded woman, had continued to live sufficiently on her own in the house they had bought decades ago. Now, literally on her deathbed, and as she imaged still in control of her life, she made up her mind that she would not die in the hospital.

Since she kept insisting on being released, her doctor suggested that we look into in-home hospice care.That sounded practical until I discovered that her insurance, Blue Cross, would not pay for in-home hospice, which I was told would cost around $500 per day. Infeasible! Since only God knew whether mother would live for days, weeks, or months, we had no choice but to adhere to mother’s demands and bring her home. My sister and I would take turns staying with her. We would prepare and bring her food, administer her medication and assist with her personal needs.

During that stressful period, my sister and I put our lives on hold and took turns, staying a week at a time, at mother’s house. Since she was tethered to a breathing machine, mother’s mobility was limited, but you wouldn’t know it if you heard us constantly insisting that she stop climbing out of the rented hospital bed. Mother has always been strong-willed, and she was determined to do for herself for as long as she could. On the occasions when my sister and I were there together, we would sometimes look at each other, and shake our head from side-to-side silently deploring mother’s stubbornness. I don’t know how my sister spent the days during her watch, but I utilized much of my time journalizing.

In a study by University of Texas psychologist and researcher James Pennebaker, he writes that writing about stressful events helps us release the intensity of our feelings and come to terms with them. How could anyone knowing that their mother is dying comes to term with that? What I knew then and have always known is that writing about my feelings, writing about nearly anything – depending on the situation – makes a difficult period easier and a pleasant experience more joyful.

Since I am in the process of writing a book about her, I’ve been rereading my journal entries recorded in the weeks preceding and immediately following mother’s death which occurred on June 18, 2014. Although I know I wrote it back then, it isn’t any easier reading it now. In fact, sometimes I become emotional and have to make a serious effort to calm myself before I continue. Painful emotions never go away; they just lie dormant until resurrected.

In one journal entry, six months before mother died, I describe a lucid dream that mother told me she had about my dad. Rereading it got me to wondering about dreams and death. This is what I wrote:

Sunday, January 12, 2014 – 8:36 PM

Mother told me that she dreamed about dad for a second time since he died. She said that in the last dream, three nights ago, dad was all dressed up in a suit. “He was looking nice, really sharp.” She said. As he was walking toward her, he stretched out his hand and said, “Come with me.”  Mother said that although she knew she was asleep, she was consciously aware that dad was dead. And she also remembered that her mother used to tell her that if you dream of a dead person and the person tells you to come with them if you go, you too will die. Mother began backing away from dad until (in reality) she fell off of the bed and awoke on the floor.

“Did you hurt yourself?” I asked. “No,” she replied, “But I’m glad I woke up.”

My mother was always an intuitive person. Is it silly when I wonder if the breast cancer that had been in remission was rekindling during that dream? Was it a premonition or a coincidence that mother died six months after having that dream? I don’t believe in coincidences, but I will always wonder if mother was holding dad’s hand when she left us.

Life is filled with mysteries, some to never be solved. Dreams are one of those.

 

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About Your Opinion

what's your opinion retro speech balloonListen up, opinionated people. Don’t be afraid to voice your opinion. Some people hesitate to do that because they worry about what others may think or say about what they said. An opinion is just that – an opinion. And just like everybody has a brain, everyone has an opinion.

People often form opinions and judgments based on a variety of factors including personal life experiences. Sometimes just a gut feeling will persuade us to think one way or another. For instance, some people have the opinion that 45 is the great white hope. Others opine, based on what we’ve seen and heard, is that he is the devil’s disciple.

If you have an opinion and want to express it, then do it. Don’t feel intimidated by what “they” might say or think. People are going to say what they want to say about you whether you express your opinion or play deaf and dumb. Take that last sentence, for instance. The opinion of some people is that the phrase “deaf and dumb” should not be used because it could be considered offensive. Context people! Keep things in context, and you might avoid misconstruing what someone says. (Veering off-subject for a moment, I have to say that I agree with journalist Katy Tur whose opinion is that “This PC culture has run amok.)

If others have a difference of opinion about what you say, that’s okay. That’s their prerogative. Just like the adage “One man’s junk is another man’s treasure,” I say that “One person’s opinion may be another person’s nonsense, but it is still that person’s opinion.” You have a choice to consider an opinion that might differ from your own, or you can disregard it. Plain and simple.

If you are an opinionated person and other people are uncomfortable because you refuse to keep your opinion to yourself, that’s their problem. Don’t make it yours. Remember, you have as much right to your opinion as they do to theirs. If they think you are a loud-mouth because you make your thoughts known; you might think that they are wimps because they refuse to say what they are champing at the bit to say.

A strong opinion about something doesn’t always have to be made public. Sometimes a wise person will avoid expressing his or her opinion in order not to hurt someone’s feelings or be offensive. And because you may have a strong opinion it doesn’t mean that you can’t change your mind.

Years ago, I was an ardent proponent of the death penalty and didn’t mind discussing my position. My cousin, David, a vocal opponent, will tell you that he and I had great debates on that subject. All of the arguments against it did not change my mind. But in time, after considering numerous circumstances and studying the subject, I changed my opinion on capital punishment.

Be opinionated if you want to and be vocal. Opinions are not gospel and sometimes they are not fact-based. Nevertheless, it is wise to be adequately informed about what you speak instead of shooting blanks from the brain and out the mouth. And to buttress your position, keep in mind the words of Arnold H. Glasow, “The fewer the facts the stronger the opinion.”

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