Mike the Malicious Mailman

We all probably have complaints about the United States Postal Service. We also joke about people “going postal”. However, I think what I experienced after we did some remodeling really should win some sort of prize for most ridiculous application of outdated rules.

Our 1925 house was located in Old Town, a quaint neighborhood of miss-matched houses. Some had been totally redone, and had yuppies living in them. Some had been converted into rentals with several apartments in one old, huge house and had students in them. Some were falling apart. We bought ours in 1993, just as the real estate market started going nuts. Our first mortgage was less than the rent we'd been paying for a two bedroom apartment. Our cottage wasn't falling apart, but it needed work.

The Engineer rewired the entire place. Silly us, we thought being able to run the microwave AND the fridge at the same time was a necessary luxury. We also redid the one bathroom, and the pepto bismol pink kitchen. We'd only planned to stay until we had our family. At a whopping 760 square feet, this house would not be big enough. But like a lot of plans of ours, that one didn't happen. Seven years later we were still in our starter house, one kid in the den made into nursery, the other on his way. The newly enclosed front porch was our sunroom, and soon to be YellowBoy's room.

This porch had stone pillars, so securing dry-wall to them was quite the challenge. But The Engineer's brother, Trouble, is a skilled carpenter, and the new room was wonderful. We'd even installed a mail slot so that our mail would land indoors, on a shelf, instead of being squished into the mailbox which had previously been in its spot. I even wrote a note to our grumpy mailman, Mike, declaring with pride our new mail slot. (I knew his name because in trying to be friendly and de-grumpify him, I'd asked.)

After three days, I still had no mail. Strange, we used to get all kinds of snail spam before I discovered how to stop that. A day with no mail was really very rare. Three? Something was up. I waited for Mike.

“Hey Mike, didn't you see our mail slot?”

“Yes. I did. It's illegal.”

“Why?”

“It just is. Fix it.”

And away he went. Didn't even give me that day's mail. I told you he was grumpy.

So I called. You probably know how hard it is to get an actual person on the phone. I managed after several days.

“Well ma'am. It's like this. You aren't allowed to change the method of delivery without prior authorization. If you want a slot and not a box, it's gotta be approved beforehand.”

“Ok, sorry. What form do I need?”

“Well it's too late now. You've done it without the form. You won't be approved.”

“Would you mind explaining that to me? You said I needed prior approval. I understand that it's why I haven't been getting my mail. But if I ask for approval now, won't the rest of my mail be delivered?”

“No, you did it without authorization, so you won't be able to.”

“You mean to tell me that whoever first built this house in 1925 has forever decided that I have to have a box?”

“Yes.”

Unbelievable. When I was done ranting and raving, I put the mailbox BACK. And waited. Four days. No mail. I intercepted Mike again. (Despite his extreme grumpiness, he was at least punctual. We always got our mail between 3:00 and 3:30.)

“Hey Mike! I put the box back, can I have my mail?”

“Not until you go to the main station and pick up what they're holding and fill out the form to restart service.”

I was so fed up I just slammed back into the house. It was October. It was snowing. I was 36 weeks pregnant. High risk pregnant. With a toddler. I called.

“Can you please make an exception? I'm high risk very pregnant and can't come get the mail.”
“No.”

Of course not. But by now this had been going on for over two weeks and I knew there were bills I had to pay. I'm sad to say they won, and I went over there. There were two plastic bins of mail (you've probably seen them behind the scenes while waiting in one of the impossibly long lines for your turn, they're the size of laundry baskets). I struggled, one bin at a time, making two trips with the bin precariously propped on the “hood” of the stroller over Jake's head while he screamed in protest in the seat. I couldn't leave him in the car. I couldn't carry the bin AND hold his hand.

I got my mail. They won. Mike started delivering again.

But the story doesn't end there. A year later we moved. I was excited about many things regarding our new house, and one of them was that I'd have a new mailman. I thought I'd have a new mailman.

It was several weeks before I spotted him. I stared in disbelief. Mr. Grumpy himself was carrying mail. On my street, on the other side of town. I couldn't stop myself from striking up a conversation.

“What are you doing all the way over here?”

“Delivering mail.”

“I mean, are you subbing for someone?”

“No, I finally got the route I've been asking for.”

Now folks, what are the odds? Because I assure you, I'm not making this up.

Saturday Centus: Family Drama, Part V

The Moon in Leo trines Mars and opposes Neptune. Although there is a chance to get a lot done and take positive action, misunderstandings could arise. It's better to be safe than sorry. Make sure you know what you're getting into before you take a risk that could leave you worse off than before.

Kat read the horoscope with her coffee. “Ha! I should have seen that yesterday.” She'd taken “positive action” by coming out in the storm to help her sister. The “misunderstanding” between Elaine and her lover had ended in bloodshed. She was, about to “take a risk”. “Worse off than before?” Hell, yes. She had a dead body, rolled up in a blood-soaked rug, waiting for some sort of action. Elaine had skipped out on her, again, and her hope of Russ's help was slowly dwindling as her coffee got cold and the phone stayed silent.

It's Saturday Centus.  By now you know the drill, 100 words, don't mess with the prompt, link up at Jenny's.  This week is another curve ball, though.  We were to take any horoscope and write about the day that person would have as a result.  I'm challenging myself to connect all my stories, regardless of the prompt.  Keeping with challenge, I told myself to just take whichever one popped up first in Google.  So go check out the other stories, and add yours to the linky if you want to play.

P.S You can read the first four parts here.

Colder than Winter

Cold is more than temperature

It's naked, skeletal trees

casting shadows

on the frozen ground

It's the wind that whips

the shriveled leaves

in a ghostly dance

It's windows shut,

patios barren

firewood stacked

where there once

was a lush garden,

but now, only a memory

The world is dormant

hunkering down,

as if to hide

from winter's woes

I'm like that, too

just so cold at heart

with despair's weary drag

I'm being sucked dry,

as if my pain, my sorrow

was someone's solace

so they take take take

and I'm left

staring at the stark bleakness

of defeat,

my skeleton bare,

my joy stolen by the

greedy cycle

paindespairdepressionpain

always the pain

my constant companion

Coldest of all,

I've lost you

no longer willing

to ride the roller-coaster

arm wrapped around me

in comfort and togetherness

you've left me stranded

on the side of the road,

danger at every turn

never even bothering

to wave goodbye.

It's One-Shot Wednesday.  Write a poem and link up!  

Saturday Centus: Family Drama, Part IV

“Please pick up, please pick up!” she chanted to herself while the phone kept ringing and ringing. Reluctantly, she used the code they'd developed years ago.

“Pardon me,” said Tom T. Urkee”

The last time they'd used that phrase, Russ had been the one in trouble. She smiled as she remembered the incident which has cemented their long friendship.

He'd better not be in Columbia, again.

Hoping for coffee, Katherine was not surprised to find a note instead.

“Dear Kat, sorry to run, but I just can't handle this. I'll be in touch.”

Classic. Sighing, she made the coffee herself. Russ would call soon.

It's Saturday Centus. Here's Part IV of my continuing story, earlier pieces are below. If you'd like to join us, link up at Jenny's, and check out the rules. 100 words, don't mess with the prompt (in bold italic).  You don't have to string them together, I'm just doing that for an extra challenge.

Part I

Good grief. On a night like this, even I might say, “It was a dark and stormy night,” thought Katherine as she negotiated the hair-pin turns on the rain-soaked country lane. This wasn't her plan for the evening. But what can you do when your baby sister calls you, desperate for help in the crisis du jour, and you're just sitting at home, planning revenge. Not just any revenge, but a revenge so clever and intricate that no one would be able to guess who or why. A revenge that would make this novel another best-seller. Tonight, though, she'd have to settle for real drama.

Part II

Katherine gave herself a pep-talk before getting out of the car. “Do the best you can. Get out as quickly as you can. Don't let her talk you into anything illegal. Again.”

“Oh Katherine, you'll never believe what accidentally happened!”

Yes, I probably will. She was used to cleaning up after her sister's messes. And sure enough, there he lay. Elaine's latest lover, in a pool of blood. Shot through the head, she guessed, from what she could see. Well now, this was worse than usual. "This is never going to come out," she thought as she scrubbed at the spot on the worn carpet.” But, it would make another good scene in her latest murder mystery.

Part III

The early November sunshine cast golden rays of unwelcome light in her eyes. She tried to stay wrapped in the old quilt, while turning over and staying on the skinny sofa. Thud. She hit the bare wood floor. That spot hadn't come clean, as she'd warned Elaine. The rolled up rug lying by the front door was a quick reminder of what today would bring. And she wasn't looking forward to it. She'd disposed of numerous dead bodies over the years, but doing it for real as opposed to in her writing was not something she'd planned on. It was finally time to call in a favor.

55: Left on the Sidelines

Pain

grey

foggy

relentlessly constant

Pain

a curtain over

life

dulling the view

and keeping me

from joining in

Pain

exhausting

I'm fighting through

the curtain

the fog

just to emerge

feeling alone

left on the sidelines

Pain

an evil companion

stealing the spotlight

leaving me

in the shadows

behind the curtain

in the fog.

It's Flash Friday 55!  Write a poem or short, short story in exactly 55 words.  Then go tell g-man in his comments.

Sign, Sign, Everywhere a Sign

"Will work for food

Please help

God bless

Homeless vet"

I haven't walked

your path

or seen your pain

felt your despair

or hunger, loss, struggle

But I know Someone

who has

He told me,

“Unto the least of these..”

I extend my hand,

with coins and a smile

“God bless you!”

And feel good

for a while

But it's not a solution

or substitute

for a real revolution

Society must change

Or the cycle will continue

No absolution.

I'm participating in another prompt with the wonderful writers at One Shot Poetry.  Topic: homelessness.  If you want to join us, check out the photo prompts as well.

Sat. Centus: Family Drama, Part III

The early November sunshine cast golden rays of unwelcome light in her eyes. She tried to stay wrapped in the old quilt, while turning over and staying on the skinny sofa. Thud. She hit the bare wood floor. That spot hadn't come clean, as she'd warned Elaine. The rolled up rug lying by the front door was a quick reminder of what today would bring. And she wasn't looking forward to it. She'd disposed of numerous dead bodies over the years, but doing it for real as opposed to in her writing was not something she'd planned on. It was finally time to call in a favor.

It's Saturday Centus again, and I'm glad I get to play this week.  The rules are the same, only 100 words, don't split the prompt (in bold italic), link up at Jenny's.  I've added another dimension to this challenge for myself:  I'm going to try to connect all my future SC posts to the one above.  Some of you might remember what it in turn is linked to.  If not, here it is:

Part I

Good grief. On a night like this, even I might say, “It was a dark and stormy night,” thought Katherine as she negotiated the hair-pin turns on the rain-soaked country lane. This wasn't her plan for the evening. But what can you do when your baby sister calls you, desperate for help in the crisis du jour, and you're just sitting at home, planning revenge. Not just any revenge, but a revenge so clever and intricate that no one would be able to guess who or why. A revenge that would make this novel another best-seller. Tonight, though, she'd have to settle for real drama.

Part II

Katherine gave herself a pep-talk before getting out of the car. “Do the best you can. Get out as quickly as you can. Don't let her talk you into anything illegal. Again.”

“Oh Katherine, you'll never believe what accidentally happened!”

Yes, I probably will. She was used to cleaning up after her sister's messes. And sure enough, there he lay. Elaine's latest lover, in a pool of blood. Shot through the head, she guessed, from what she could see. Well now, this was worse than usual. "This is never going to come out," she thought as she scrubbed at the spot on the worn carpet.” But, it would make another good scene in her latest murder mystery.

55 - Abandoned, Alone

Abandoned

Grass gone hippy-shaggy

Paint peeling,

as birch-bark does

revealing not new growth,

but faded glory

once sunny yellow,

now dull grey

those vacant windows,

no longer adorned

with lacy curtains,

coyly blinking-

waving 

in a breeze, instead

empty eyes wearily stare

at the abandoned yard

where kids once played

its  life extinguished,

empty house

Mourns.

It's Flash Friday 55!  Share 55 words, then tell g-man in his comments.

Health Care Hijinx

It's gotten so absurdly ridiculous that I finally can't keep silent any longer. I've felt a rant coming on for quite some time, and now I just have to let it out. Health care and the insurance industry are tying the hands of our doctors and crippling the wallets of ordinary Americans, who are just trying to get by and stay healthy.

The first incident that led me to this point happened about five years ago. Jake had hideous headaches for over a year and nothing any of the doctors tried made a difference. Not only did he have full-blown puke and miss school migraines, but also daily, crippling “normal” headaches. The pediatric neurologist where we finally ended up ordered an MRI of his brain. He was eight. I can't remember which insurance we were with at the time, because it's all just a blur of new company every August, higher premiums, lower coverage, higher you-pays, and less choice in doctors and facilities.

This MRI was at Children's Hospital. An in-network facility. That didn't stop them from denying our claim. Apparently “elective” MRIs aren't covered until you meet your (sky-high) deductible. Do you think I'm taking my kid's headaches casually, and have ELECTED to have this procedure? I'll do anything to find what's causing his pain. His doctor said this would help. I'm doing it. No “election” necessary, but that's beside the point. That kind of insurance crap I'm used to. What really pissed me off was Children's policy. If you DON'T have insurance, they discount the procedure 20%. If you HAVE insurance, it's full price. In other words, I HAD INSURANCE, never mind that it wasn't covered, I paid full price. Out of my pocket. You know what a brain MRI cost in 2005? $1843.78. They “kindly” let us pay it in installments. $75 dollars at a time. I'm still furious. Thank God his test came back normal, but it took me weeks to get that report out of them. I think for that price they should have framed it in gold and hand-delivered it to me.

Last year was a really “great” year for insurance in our family. We were on three different policies. It's not just the hassle of all that paperwork. “Please list all your past surgeries, with date, doctor, facility, and diagnosis.” I have had the misfortune of needing 14 surgeries. They never give you more than three tiny lines to answer that. More significantly though, these frequent changes meant that we had to start paying our deductible over again THREE times. Never did meet it on any of the plans.

Of course, this August when the insurance changes came out, I was reluctant to see what the new “fabulous deal” was. Hmmm, completely new company, new type of plan, new mail order pharmacy, maybe this time we'd be OK. I never should have let that thought enter my brain. They've already shown their complete and total lack of common sense on two different occasions.

The first idiotic incident happened with my chronic pain doctor. I've been on the same drug, same dosage, for four years now. This new company filled it fine the first two months, then denied it the third month “at this dosage”. I took their lovely form letter to my dear doctor who said, “Yea, we've been getting these a lot this last month. Election coming up. Everyone getting their ducks in a row in case something big happens. I know just what to do. It's the NUMBER of pills they're objecting to. I'll just make it for fewer pills by doubling your dose.” I was incredulous. I used get four 10 mg pills, and could take one or two, twice a day, depending on my level of pain that day. Four pills a day. They took this choice away from me. Now I have two 20 mg pills per day. I no longer can cut the dose in half if I'm having an OK day, because this is a time-release med that you CANNOT cut or it releases way too much all at once. The insurance company is making me take MORE drugs than I need. Does this make sense to anyone?

The final event that broke my silence happened today. I'm having trouble with my hip, and the pain has been escalating over the last three months. I saw a hip specialist on Monday who ordered an MRI. Guess what they said about coverage? If I have it done IN THE DOCTOR'S OFFICE, it's covered. 100%. No co-pay, no meeting the deductible. However, if it's done in an “out-patient facility”, I have to meet my deductible first. I asked her. I clarified. “You mean, that if they use the same kind of machine, in the same kind of way, but one happens to be in an “office” and the other in a “facility”, then it's covered differently?” “Yes, that's what I'm saying.” So I of course decided a call to the “place” (since it has yet to be classified, you see, the machine belongs to my doctor's office, but is in a separate place in the building, their “MRI Suite”) and ask what category they fit in to. Of course no one could come to the phone right then, but I could leave a message...

I swear, all of this is enough to make this girl go on a search for some “medical” marijuana and just zone out and forget it all. Anyone know a good “doctor”?

Alphabe-Thursday is brought to you by the letter H.  Check out the rest of the gang at Jenny's.

Rain Came Softly

You come softly, today

Easing over the mountain ridges

slowly, as if looking around

to see

the places you'll bless

upon your arrival

At first you whisper,

the hushed sound

of your voice

a gentle mist

then you speak

out loud,

the story more forceful

as your mist becomes

a curtain

that curtain

finally rain

Rain which softens

the harsh edges

of the naked, shivering

trees,

dimming the fading

autumn light, and

cloaking fall, with

the whisper of winter

in your wake.

It's One-Shot Wednesday again.  Write a poem and link up!

Kid Samaritans

When I worked as an office manager, after having been home with my kids for ten years, there was never a good solution to the problem of a sick kid needing a parent to stay home with him. My job was at a very small company, so if was out, all my work just waited until I got back. There wasn't anyone to fill in since all of us were already spread so thin and wearing so many hats. Made staying home very stressful. The Engineer's job assignments (all at another smallish company) have varied quite a bit over his career, mostly in sustaining engineering, but right now is in regulatory compliance where about one week a month he's at a testing site with the new product, helping it get through FCC or UL testing. These sessions cost tens of thousands of dollars a day, and the wait for a testing session is long. So he couldn't stay home either, most of the time. What's a family to do? Call on extended family? That proved complicated as well, since the Swede has some health issues compromising his immune system and has to avoid all possible infection, thereby excluding Nana. What we needed is what Sweden has: Kid Samaritans.

It's an ingenious idea. The Samaritans part is from the familiar Bible story about the Samaritan who stopped to help the injured traveler when everyone else, including the Jewish priest, had passed him by.  Kid Samaritans, back in the 70s, were mostly grandmotherly types looking for a little extra income. They would come into your home and care for your sick child just like a grandma would, and I'm guessing on this part, because even The Swede didn't know, for a very reasonable price. He did suggest googling in Swedish, so I did. This profession is going strong! I found one ad where the Kid Samaritans are linked to a pre-school and are already familiar with your child from his or her attendance at that school. They even remind you that half the cost is tax-deductible.  I didn't find any actual salary info though, or cost to the customer either.

I totally can see this working in the US. There are many retirees who are on a fixed income and could benefit from some extra cash. In turn, they'd gain a sense of purpose. I'd rig it like substitute teaching where you can always say no if you happen to have unchangeable plans for the following day. I know many sweet ladies at my church who would do a wonderful job at this.  (Not excluding men, just this might not be the preferred gig, for the majority of them.)

My own Farmor (Swedish grandmother, “Dad'smom”) was employed this way when I was a little girl growing up in Sweden. Many other boys and girls benefited from her tender care, comforting food, and entertaining stories. She had quite the ear for accents and could imitate just about anyone. In her telling of a tale, each character's personality would come through in the voice she crafted for them. She never tired of reading aloud, either. Yes, she was a softie, but isn't that the role of a grandparent?

I wish she'd come take care of me now. I have the beginnings of a nasty head and chest cold, courtesy of YellowBoy, who is almost through his bout. I guess I'll count the blessing that I'm not currently employed, and my boys can look after me for a change. Pass the kleenex, please.

Today It's Ninjas

Today 

it's ninjas

as my breakfast tableau

unfolds before me

they move in slow motion,

this rag-tag bunch

but it's serious

and,

surprisingly silent, as

they stalk

stray cats

with foam nun-chucks

Yesterday

was waterskiing,

skate boards suddenly transformed, 

and their ten-speed boats

dangerously dragging

the Olympic athlete

down the street,

through the waves,

leaves dancing

out of their way

then lying scattered

in their wake

Let them play

Let them run

Let them be

creative kids

For tomorrow,

comes soon enough

they'll be serious later,

abandoning freedom, for

lessons, homework, chores

but for today, 

they're just ninjas.

It's One Shot Wednesday. Write a poem (no restrictions, ANY style goes) and link up.

Real Writing

I caught the tail end of Oprah's interview with J.K Rowling. (For those from another planet, she's the author of the Harry Potter books.) This was a chance sort of thing because 1) dislike Oprah and have never watched her show unless forced 2) it wasn't even supposed to be on. I was getting my nails done, and usually get Let's Make a Deal. Harmless fluff. But the station had some technical difficulty, and jumped into this Oprah interview. All that to say, I believe Someone wanted me to hear what she had to say.

Oprah asked her, “Here's the question I'm sure you get everyday. What's next? Will you write again?”

“Of course I'm going to write again. I have to. I can't NOT write! And that's how you know you're really a writer.”

That spells good news for me, because I've been feeling completely frustrated lately, and wondering if I should keep going on this writing journey. One part of my frustration is the lack of time in my day to write. I've tried various means of tweaking my schedule, but inevitably, something steals my time. The bigger part is that as I meet more and more wonderful writers through contests and prompt blogs, I feel less and less capable. I read their short stories and think, “Wow. How did she come up with that? I wouldn't have thought of that at all.” Yet, that writer did. While it's been wonderful, and encouraging, to be invited to join several groups of writers, when I compare myself to them, I'm just not that good.

But J.K Rowling thinks I'm a writer. She said so on national TV. I think what she meant was that I wouldn't have the feelings of frustration at NOT writing if I weren't a writer. Simple as that. So I will push on. I'll will continue to post drafts. I will continue to write poetry. I'll continue to dream

Because I can't NOT write.