A 2012 Mid-Year in Review: A Year Without Mom

I have not been writing very much lately. It has dawn on me that my skills as a writer may not reach a level worthy of recording every silly thought or review of a situation. Just seems irrelevant to pop online to talk about whatever movie, legal case, political issue, or economic turn happens to catch my fancy for the time it takes to organize some coherent thoughts. Other matters are more important than the contributions one makes via blogs.

Today, one year has passed since my mother's death and funeral. Obviously, it runs through my head a lot. July 4th is my grandfather's death to remember too. So while others prepare for food fests, live concerts, fireworks, tracker pulls, horse showings, and whatever else makes the Fourth, the fourth, I will likely ride my bike around campus a lot and watch movies for my own way to get through the holiday.

The year since has been one of reorganization and reality. I got into to Purdue again, achieved my best GPA ever and semester honors, and will take the GMAT in August. I moved to West Lafayette, and currently, paint apartments and bust up plaster that needs work while spackling over the rough spots too. My life too needs more spackle (and walls of plaster) in places we've discussed before, many years ago on this blog.

I spend most of my time alone. Have not made good friends yet, not for lack of trying. But again, as always,
past experiences and realities just are...there. A line from the movie, Hoosiers, by Barbara Hersey's character regarding Gene Hackman's plights before coming to Hickory to coach basketball: "A man your age comes to a place like this, either he's running away from something or he has nowhere else to go."
At Purdue, a little of both is probably true of me.

I saw this course as the last go at school and whatever that might bring. That there can not be much to gain from staying on a paper route, hoping I'll get ahead, and knowing it never did get me (or my mom) anywhere in the decade plus of time we both dedicated to that task. That I also have no where else to go and no one left in my life to share it with is true. This is due to a fear of intimacy.

To be clear: In the last moments and months of my mother's life, I found a closeness to her even as she could not always make clear her thoughts (dementia and cancer.) Being relied upon, and counted to do the right thing, is never easy. I made mistakes and stress was in every decision. Yet, I did my utmost to give my mother as much of a happy time as we could afford. (Her favorite: going to PETSMART to pet the cats. We went about twice a week as it was nearby.) Simple, frivolous to many I suppose, but it was something. Book stores too were treat. Shopping at Target. Watching the Cubs...

But outside of that one relationship (the easiest one to be closest, for many people, but not all), I have no real close relationships. Just superficial acquaintances and meager work connections that end at the juncture of mutual interests and quitting time. Years ago, I discussed this from the woe-is-me, victim-is-me standpoint. I was who I was then; flawed and failed and flailing around for answers. It was after the first time I seriously attempted to tear down a codependent, fear-of-rejection/intimacy wall as a recovering alcoholic in 1999-2000 while in a community organization. Later, I was duly burnt by pursuing an unavailable woman; reacted very badly to her salt-in-the-wounds rejection; was punished rightly for my bitter and spiteful words in retaliation; and had to accept lies told (to buttress the legal case) on top of that. And then...life had to go on with the damage done.
  
Now, I have tried to be more open, yet guarded also, since there are others out there that are just as hurt and
just as willing to repeat their cycle of re-victimization. So while I can hope to make things work, I realize what are the missing pieces to the puzzle: intimate relationships. What is worse - I have never seen them in operation in my own life. No happy intimate relationship while in any romance. (14 years since I've even kissed a woman.) Barely a friendship to count on. For some, I can hear, "well, you need to give more to others." 

The last six to eight months, in various ways, I have made strides on this area. At least dozen fellows, for various reasons, I have tried to advise in long form. Work-related, life goals, self-improvement mantras, or titles of worth, or just general encouragement in pursuit of the long-term. Sometimes a few minutes, others, maybe 1/2 to and hour in social atmospheres I probably should not be in - bars. Advise, not, "This is what you should do...period," instead just stories from my own failings... Yet, while worthwhile, it lacks. It's not fulfilling long-term. Still does not solve my own personal issues. But, I try.   (And for contrast: I've tried a couple times to talk to ladies. Not very successful at all - nor were they open to advice - in fact, plenty of know-it-all ladies must attend Purdue. Wisdom: the outcome of failed experiences. Or: You can learn a lot from a dummie. )

That said, you have to Run Your Race. (See Below.)

So, that's the year in review, mid-year. We will see where I am next year.

Will I still blog, if infrequently?
Will I be in an MBA program?
Will I make a contribution of note?
Will I cross a rubicon in my evolution towards a more whole and satisfying life?

I realize some may not like Joel Osteen, but a few bits here in Run Your Race are worth listening to:

1) 20:25-22:30 Saul & High Maintenance People
2) 24:15-25:30 The Old Man, the Boy, and The Donkey, People Pleasing
3) 25:35-27:15 Dreams Untold (Joseph, Mary)
4) 11:55-13:00 The Pit: People Pleasing, Ignoring Advise

 

A Year on the Brink: On-the-fly decisions towards a Joseph Calling???

Chapter 8 of My Life and Times at Purdue University

I am by no means a completely spiritual person. Quick meaning: I don't usually dwell too much on the esoteric nature of why we are here, what is my purpose, or who is this being we often call God. Not that I have never done so, or not done so recently, but, in general, I leave that to the Alan Greenspan's of spiritual musings and metaphysics. (Greenspan was known as the 'maestro' in the capital markets.)


So why does this matter? 

The recent year was not a usual one for me, or my mom. It really started off around May of 2010. Things went downhill for my mother - she began losing weight, falling down (while climbing steps to deliver the news), and not making decisions I surmised she should have. (Not drastic stuff - but enough - to know something was wrong.) By September 27th, she was admitted for surgery to remove cancerous masses from her abdomen.

Her 115-year house (and her sister's home for 50 years) was up for foreclosure. Not a special home either - and they had 15 cats. The crisis had reached a breaking point. I had tried to consul her sister to make a drastic change - and that my mom was in a serious crisis. (Obvious.) I had hardly anyone else to talk to - or able to talk sense to the aunt that would not listen.

Meanwhile, mom's condition got worse. The cancer spread to her brain. The crisis now determined that I was to decide if my mother got emergency surgery to remove the tumor from near her brain stem. It was not hard to decide that. However, the surgeon basically said he was only buying her a little time. He unfortunately said it was all but over. (He did not say that directly - but it was understood.)

Now, the choice was made on November 17th to operate. My beat up 22-year old car suddenly overheated regularly. (By Thanksgiving, it would be unusable.) I moved out on November 19th because the aunt's irrationality got to the point I called the police on her. The cops did nothing. Not seeming to grasp the gravity of my crisis. (I also had contacted adult protective services. That was the level of my own distress about all issues.)

So, I took control of my life - and by legal extension - my mother's. I made the best of what I had - took a car (my mother's debt) from her sister to keep a job; moved to motels/hotels; made arrangements for my mom that fell through  - her brief stay at a VA home. My mom's condition was irreparable - she was aware she did not 'think' right, but her emotions were all over too. It was hard to keep up with the fluctuations - dementia setting in - but I managed to keep her safe. That's what mattered.

I made plenty of mistakes too. I spent more money than I should have to keep us in a place - but moving around with bad credit (no refs either) made that hard to solve. Mom's radiation treatment was for two weeks; then was supposed to intensify for spot treatment later. (By the time she came out of round 1, she was not functioning well enough to go on to round 2.) Other conditions - diabetes - made things more difficult.

She left us quickly - one month of a truly terrible life. (I can't even imagine how it must have been for her.) I can only state this final fact because it is just true. I think about her daily. Sometimes wishing I had been quicker to act. Again, mistakes were made.

Doors close.

And I took my time to grieve too.

Then, I started a plan to reeducate myself. It was a long shot - no real chance to go back to a university that I did poorly at in Purdue. I applied. I wrote to this story after a 1st rejection. I was tentatively accepted. Then financing was reviewed. I cracked that door open too.

Other choices later were done on-the-fly. I moved out of the hotels. Got a cheap place. Found out my mom's car was not going to stick around. Broke towards school and found another place.

While it was not my goal, or intent, six months or a year ago, I am here.

Later, I stumbled upon a concept called the Joseph Calling. It is very important sounding. Basically, you gotta get kicked around a lot. Humbled. Doubt God. And somehow, find another way to go ahead. The more hardship, the more setbacks, the more likely your purpose is a bit greater than you contemplate.

I am not saying I know this for myself. As this blog over the past six years (or my blogging) has bounced around from sport, to personal victimhood (reliving certain poor choices), to politics, to society, to reviews of whatever, something must driving this.

Is my mom helping to lay this all out? Did she pass when she did so I could do something about my education and the writing I do in other ways? I do not know. People seem to always put a label on things to solve their inadequate explanations.

So I did so too. Better to see yourself as overcoming, designing a better reality than to just equate it to what was meant to happen (and that you got luck from that).

Because I do not feel lucky. I'd want mom to be with me this Thanksgiving and many more. I'd take more paper routes if she was around to talk to about whatever. So, while I am less stressed (to a degree), her presence in my life is a hole I can never fill.

The idea of a great upside from such fall - in this case going back to 2000 - is a spiritual novelty. Not that I can not believe it is operative at all. But...well, that's why spiritual maestros exist. To contemplate so we don't have to...determine what is the reason for such years lived on the brink.


For my mom, her spiritual calling was not blessed with the people that made stalwart friends in the pinch. She was there for others: that was her contribution to the grander scheme.

A song possibly about Guardians: Stay (Faraway and so Close)

Just Another Day: Musings from An Ethical Wallaby by me

I started out my paper route at 2AM listening to a talk series on Ethics as it applies to human rights and legal ramifications. As this Australian/Canadian author, Margaret Somerville, titled the first in her series An Ethical Wallaby – a ‘wallaby’ is a ‘walk about for enlightenment’ – it certainly caught some of my attention amidst throwing papers in boxes or in driveways.

With Scooter Libby getting his prison sentence commuted, the idea of ethics involving the highest office in the land comes to mind. When is it just to pardon or commute a sentence handed down by a judge after a jury of your peers found you guilty? Certainly this smacks of political favoritism – especially so close to Bush's front door – but why doesn’t it happen more often, in clearer instances of miscarriages of justice? Isn’t a pardon/commutation supposed to be reserved for those we are assured after the case was decided were innocent of the crime they were accused of? The fine Scooter will pay is small ($250,000) in relative terms to his income and probation will likely will not be a burden to him – likely a phone call, at best, from a disinterested parole officer.

Beyond that recent political intrigue, I was thinking back to college. Yes, those grand times when I did not do outstanding work or make any headway in putting behind the past.

I graduated with a 2.07 GPA and missed tons of classes, more than I attended in some semesters, while not getting to know my classmates in my major. For some reason, I found people in other majors more appealing to know. Liberal Arts, Management, English, Elementary Education, Philosophy and Poly Sci were all more enjoyable to talk with than a bunch of Engineer brainiacs.

Life was pretty Greek at Purdue. 25% or more were in those organizations. I was a GDI – and not ashamed of it – but I did not join any other organizations, aside from a semester of Pre-Law Society. Course, that did not go far…until later on in my life...

Somehow, I lost interest in learning and being after high school. Classes, socializing (unless just bullshitting) and giving back did not seem relevant. Sure, I knew it could be important, but then again, many of those flaky, superficial Greeks made situations very unimportant out to be the raison d'être to all of their (and their “brothers and sisters”) worldly ills.

My situational ethics later on would include people shown little sympathy today: Mexican Americans. I worked in a Kroger perishable warehouse as an Industrial Engineer for nearly two years. One of my major responsibilities was the setting of fair labor standards based on MSD (A Time Standard Method) using a labor system developed by Gagnon (Red Prairie.)

This system worked in concert with a fairly complex WMS (Warehouse Mgmt. Sys.) and Kronos (Time tracking system.) With that said, it did not work well at all when I got there. (Soon another Purdue Engineer and I were fixing this situation…at least from a technical aspect.) We also used an incentive program, up to 25% of an employees’ take home pay, to get workers to produce at the desired level, according to safe practices, OSHA standards and various other procedures.

However, this did not take place usually. And it was often a case of supervisors ignoring dangerous problems or chastising the wrong people, Mexicans most often, because many were illegal.

So, I did my own informal, if realistic study of people. I took the entire workforce and broke them into 4 classes: white, Mexicans that speak passable English, Mexicans unable to speak English well, and African Americans. I did not do this to support any report; nor to generalize for the sake of justification to a superior, but to know if there were any tendencies.

From memory, the breakdown out of 380 employees was:
35% white
19% Passable English
28% Non-English
15% African American
3% Other
Once trained (90 days selecting cases) the best performers were:
1. Mexican Passable – 117%
2. Mexican Non Passable – 109%
3. Other – 105%
4. African Americans – 101%
5. Whites – 98%

No one knew I did this. But it does reflect many who are here illegally are working much harder for the American Dream than our current legal population does. Upton Sinclair’s 'The Jungle' is alive, to a much lesser degree, as we hear about our non-English speakers getting screwed a great deal. Human Rights go out the door where the goal is to make a buck - even in 21st century.

I once tried to stop a Spanish-speaking supervisor from chewing out a Mexican illegal. He thought I could not understand Spanish – I did not have to know that much to know what he was saying was wrong – but for that interference the Operations Manager was none too pleased. He didn’t quite snap; but he wanted to, on me. (But he knew I had a point too.)

The point of this meandering diatribe is we are not all born to Ethics. Maybe I should have been more aware of what my future would be, if I had taken the time to involve myself in good causes, student organizations and cared about my major, then concrete Ethics might have took sooner. (To little too late if you've read other posts of mine.)

But then again, if I had Scooter Libby’s pull, the ideas of ethics and treatment of information vital to America’s safety, could be pardoned away by an Op. Manager not in charge of his mental faculties.