It happened once I got onto Social Security at age 62. I started at San Francisco, living in Section 8 housing, but within a few months learned the place was poorly constructed, so that I could hear everybody's conversation in rooms around me and was in other ways fenced in! I got out of there, but fast--and went to some other city. I determined upon a 'home base" suggested by friends of mine in LA. It was the city of El Paso, Texas. I can afford the rents and find plenty to keep me busy around the EP town.
Why El Paso as my Base
The thing about traveling about and staying for a time at each place I went to was suggested to me by Buddhism. I took their teachings to imply that seniors should travel, even as most seniors do in fact travel. I found it exhilarating, so long as the body could take it. It was fun to see how people lived differently, given the different locales. It kept me involved; and made my life's experiences exciting. I can't do that anymore--I'm just too old and in need continually of a doctor's care. So, I'm now settled down in El Paso with a routine of doctor's visits, Salvation Army dinners, wonderful room at the Desoto, bus rides around town especially to the Wal-Marts, use of the El Paso Community classes as desired, good barber, great church--St. Clement--delightful downtown especially near the border, and sometimes I attend concerts, will probably be part of some senior center's membership; maybe, hopefully, go to a senior daycare center at least once a week; and most importantly use the library, and the UTEP library (shortly to start it). So I have a nice life here.
To continue with my 15 year roadster travel:
From the base city of El Paso, I then would journey to other cities around the country, live for a time; then return to Home Base! This was my festival roadster journey around the US for some 15 years stopping at Omaha, NB, Washington, DC, Santa Barbara, Honolulu, San Francisco, LA, Raleigh (NC), Las Vegas, and Reno for some period of time before going on to the next city on the roadster highway of my magical map. Always, the epitome of a roadster spinner, I would take a respite in EP from the demands of the roadster schedule for a month to many months.
I required the same basics in each town I stayed for-a-while. Here's an idea of what I did in each of the cities I landed in my roadster (i.e., Greyhound Bus).
What I did where
I can't give the period of time I was in any one place. It could be from 3 months to over a year--like the last time I spent in Omaha. I'd say the major feature of these 15 years is the blog items I produced, Indeed, it may be possible to reconstruct the true time line of stops along the way through reference to the 4 blogs. The computer guru at St. Bonaventure Senior Center in LA set up my initial use of Google blogs. And he served as a useful reference as I developed my own way to organize items for inclusion in particular blogs. Wherever I stayed, I was sure to enter items in one of my blogs.
LA:
I would use the current events class at a nearby community college--Glendale Community College--for fodder to create blog items, particularly when Obama was running for the Presidency. I lived most of the time while in LA at the Madison Hotel on 7th Street. I used a nearby clinic on 7th Street, which sometimes even didn't get a reading of an x-ray of my arm right--I had a fracture, though the head doctor at the clinic claimed I was ok. They've changed the requirements for staying at hotels downtown, so I wouldn't be allowed back in to the Madison, I understand. The hotel was convenient to buses that went around the city. I also ate my lunches at soup kitchens right in the area, e.g., that operated by the Catholic Worker. The church I went to most frequently was The International Dream Church, of the Church of God faith But I also became a member of Grace Cathedral and was loyal to the 7 AM Eucharist on the time I spent at the Mission Rock Shelter. They both do marvelous work for the poor, but Grace Cathedral plays favorites among them. At the end, I even had cable TV in my room (which was furnished). I also went to evening services-dinner at the LA Mission. LA routine was indeed ingrained, to include musical events on the Mile row at the LA Art Museum and nearby museum. Plenty of events, too, at UCLA, such as plays.
I did my shopping in the Hispanic community near a Park with a lakefront. I also went to the University of Southern California to use their philosophy library whenever I was writing something philosophical. Very complete. I liked LA, but was driven out by the poor medical care and advice I was receiving. Nevertheless, I came back time and time again--just visiting.
San Francisco:
I found the town too confining, but I would go Saturdays to Hippie Land for breakfast and many lunches, the Catholic offerings at their soup kitchens at noon during the week and the local Methodist church's dinner. Food particularly at the Hippie Kitchen in Hippie Land was outstanding.
I liked the downtown public library and would endlessly walk the streets in Chinatown, the Wharf area, and the downtown near the end of downtown streets. All very nice. But after living in my downtown hotel near Ellis, and moving out, I was unable to locate a homeless apartment again, and certainly not a Section 8. It drastically curtailed my visiting there after I gave up the Madison, which I had stayed at more than on one occasion. Also, I didn't like all the drunks circulating downtown around me!
Santa Barbara:
I lived there just after I left my San Francisco residence on Section 8, 1995. It was a really nice place but I had to share the room with a loud snorer. He also was no friend of mine, letting his friends attempt to steal from me while asleep. I would eat lunch at the Catholic soup kitchen weekdays, went to Trinity Episcopal Church, Father Asman pastor, and wandered the town, especially the fruit stand and beach areas. I liked the walks along the beach, obviously. The dock area my specialty! I went to the Community College and would enjoy being up in their sky campus. I attended the weekly current events class for seniors that they held at senior centers around town. I loved to drink coffee and people-watch from a favorite café on the main drag. Also, loved the bus ride to the nearby sights in the country! Just a delightful experience. The first time I was there I was on welfare, that paid so very little, but the place I stayed at had TV you could watch downstairs all night. Friendly people. I next tried the homeless shelter and stayed there once but went there for lunch the several other times I was in Santa Barbara, staying at the Rescue Mission, which was ok.
Typically, I would rent a storage locker and change clothes in it. I used the library to write longhand--they didn't allow persons who were homeless to use the computers.
All-in-all, a real snob town; and I didn't want to live there long--just visiting. Oh, I did enjoy breakfast at a nearby McDonald's that everybody from the nice homeless shelter near the beach would eat at. There was another McDonald's that was great for breakfast, too; and of course, the Burger King near my bank 'out there' on the main drag--State Street. I also tried the local medical facilities though I wasn't pleased with them--any of them. Best times was when I was sitting on my folding chair watching the boats!
My last time there I was drugged at the bus station, waiting to leave town; and they have a holding tank downtown where I awoke to a friendly policeman's voice. It's not unusual to be drugged somehow while at a bar or waiting to leave town. It also happened once to me in Honolulu at the Airport. The disadvantages of traveling homeless. At the airport, I recovered my luggage, which was somewhere else than where I was found. No problem!
Honolulu:
From LA, I went several times to Oahu hoping maybe to live there. Oh yes, the places on the roadster map were towns I thought maybe I would settle in, knowing that I always could fall back on El Paso!
The HMS shelter was fantastic--particularly, when they had the leftovers from the restaurants. The library was a fabulous place to read at--which is all I did there. I had a po box but it did not carry the message from Social Security telling me I had won on the Social Security disabled claim--a notice I never got for some years after the decision had been made in my favor. I never got a penny from the claim.
Anyway, I did enjoy the beach at Waikiki where the Japanese used to hang out. Indeed, the islands to my mind were held by the Japanese and the islands like Guam, which sent their people to work and raise their families. I couldn't get into their neighborhoods.
Welfare was useful, since they paid more than I could receive on the Mainland. I went to the community college for information and attended meetings the Governor showed up at. He of course was a very cordial man.
Around the downtown police center was also a place to sit. As well as on Sundays, the park by the Episcopal Cathedral. On Sundays I went to church (St. Catherine's?) there and stayed for the soup kitchen meal.
I also went some nights to the soup kitchen in Chinatown, which featured a religious service. But above all, I enjoyed watching the huge passenger ships, especially from Norway, dock and the passengers mill about the area.
My last time in Honolulu, I had the upsetting experience at the Airport that cost me money to resolve successfully by my getting out for good!
Raleigh, NC
I thought of going to Raleigh when I couldn't locate in Washington, DC. What I discovered was that Raleigh was just too far away to commute in any sense of that word to Washington.
A friend of mine found a place for me to live right off the campus of North Carolina State University, home, I think, of senior use of the TV--having a station completely dedicated to senior programming. I did visit the campus grounds and the departments involved with keeping the station going. Downtown Raleigh was pleasant, but the area seemed for me expensive and hilly.
I tried Durham, too, and found it not yet recovered from the loss of the tobacco industry.
I had a favorite park and several places I enjoyed going to. The welfare department seemed a bit alien and the management company from which I rented my apartment not really understanding my needs nor desires. The place I lived in harbored non-descripts. Enough said. I was glad to leave Raleigh one fateful day to return to DC. Went there only once.
Las Vegas:
Actually, I was on my way back to Reno (from El Paso), when I thought I would stop off at Vegas to see what I could see that might interest me. It took a room for a night downtown and really liked it. Then, I found a motel that catered to people coming through on 19th and Fremont Street--the main street that goes south from downtown. I stayed there awhile, didn't realize that I could have had a monthly rate so I stayed with the weekly until I found an apartment complex on 13th and the street that goes east(?) to an area supermarket. I did my shopping for groceries at the supermarket and took the bus home. I had been able to rent an apartment on the north end of the apartment complex.
Things went smoothly until at the very end, when I felt suffering with heat pimples all over my body--heat rash--and oppressive breathing in my lungs. That was about 7 months into my lease. I didn't know how to handle my physical condition and finally ended up running for my life's breath, out of town via, of course, Greyhound. I did ok once I left town--the rash disappeared; my breath returned to normal. The experience was emotionally frightful. Toward, the end there, I got rid of everything, I didn't know what was happening to me.
I got around via buses and found that everything was terribly spread out and made my journeys much longer than they should have been. An ugh experience, to be sure. Made me run for El Paso--time out!
Reno:
The city I like next best to El Paso is Reno, Nevada. I returned to Reno several times. I became disillusioned with the motel I was living on a monthly rental basis, because I became suspicious that he was not on the up-and-up, though he had lovely children and a nice wife. If I were to return there, I'd try to live someplace else. I don't gamble, so I wasn't lured by the casinos. I did love the Truckee River that ran down the center of town. Great U of Nv Senior Center (OLLI), too. I would play ball against the wall of the park along the River, used the two libraries in the public system all the time, and liked going out to the town next to it, also with plenty of gambling casino activity.
My room in the motel was always very nice and quiet, but as I say, you have to be wary of the people around you in the motels. Liked also to walk around downtown and environs. I would occasionally visit Senator Harry Reid's office and received excellent cooperation. I couldn't find an Episcopal Church I liked, however. Used US Bank for a checking account.
All-in-All: An Evaluation
I had a fun 15 years, centered around travelling about the country. Take away that aspect of the time spent in the cities I went to, and it would have been pretty dull, I think. The travelling was a hope that I could anticipate tomorrow with great enthusiasm.
Now, today, I'm "resigned" to staying here in El Paso. I sincerely hope that I get to spend many years here--that I'm going to live for sometime into the future. But who knows when?
Sunday, November 30, 2014
Thursday, October 30, 2014
I needed a coach as Teacher/Professor
My instructor in the creative writing course, Ms. Vasquez, at El Paso Community College was hoping I could come up with a paper on children, so this is it!
I was in the public education system through 5th grade, up to age 10-11; and then transferred into private education for the rest of my education, right through the PhD and beyond. The difference between public and private education I found was that the teacher in public school was just that--a disseminator of knowledge and evaluator of my performance, but in a private system the teacher was more of a coach. I got knowledge from the texts and the computer programs, but I got the encouragement from a teacher who believed I could do well and succeed in the mastery of the material. Let's take instances.
1. Entering Private Education
We had moved to New York City--my mother, my sister Sheila and me. I entered public school at PS 189 and spent a year of hell there! I was placed in the most advanced grade 5 class (of 3 classes) and discovered that New York City's curriculum was more advanced than what I had been taught in Buffalo schools, PS 89 and PS 30 before that. In New York, they placed you in the classroom according to how well you were doing, which meant that most of the time I was last in the list or near to last in all my courses. Added to that, I sometimes failed to take a textbook home and so was unprepared the next day. More significant, I had to fight off the bullies in the class that regularly attacked me on my way home. What a horrible experience.
But what a great Mom I had. She saw that I could have been kept behind a grade the next year and decided to take me out of the public school system. She enrolled me in private school, National Bible Institute on West 55th Street downtown away from the public school I had been attending in our neighborhood. The Institute trained teachers for the missionary field; and so I had a teacher in training. We had to pay something, but it was essentially a token amount compared to the close attention I received. The school was of a "little red school house" variety, different grades altogether in one room. It was fun to journey downtown, eat in a White Tower Restaurant around the corner, and look around at the sights in the area before going home.
Did my grades ever improve! I had been a straight-A student in Buffalo and with the help and encouragement of my teacher each of the years I was there, I returned to that status. The difference in the teacher was she believed in me! She "knew I could master the material." I learned from the texts, but I re-gained the confidence in my abilities in a warm, loving environment. It was then I came to realize that the texts and the course material taught me, but it was the coaching that made the difference in my confidence and performance.
I went through the 9th grade at that school and enjoyed and ate the attention my teachers offered all up!
2. High School at McBurney High School
How she did it, I don't know, but my mother found a YMCA high school near Central Park West, 15 W. 63rd Street. With their help I was able to secure a scholarship, so again we paid less. The school had an excellent reputation; and when I was interviewed initially, the teacher felt my grades would lower markedly, but he was mistaken. I had a great history teacher, Mr. Bowman, for the interview; and he would follow my progress for the next three years I attended.
The school was fantastic. I could not attend most of the events given at the school--we just didn't have the money. Yet I became active on the school magazine, sent to alumni, and in other clubs. Also, during the summers, I was their school helper in the office, for which I was paid, while I received the additional benefit of getting to know the staff.
I took 3 years of Latin with Mr. Beck. The disadvantage I found afterwards is I began to think and write as a Roman. To this day, I use complex sentence structures--subordinate clauses a lot in my sentences, which doesn't come off as a contemporary writing style. But I think in these complex structures, too.
I very nearly didn't graduate, because I could not pass the swimming test. Every student was required to swim the pool in 2 laps. However, the administration, seeing how weak and underdeveloped my arms are, let me out of the requirement. Another facet of the coaching aspect of being a teacher in a private school, where the students are the center of attention in the teacher's eyes--not the curriculum!
3. At University College, New York University for the B.A. in history
I had an interesting experience in Dr. Freund's chemistry class. I was virtually running a "D" in the course. I went to him and explained I didn't have a background in science. As a result of our conversations, he counted only the exams, including the practicum, in assigning my grade. I achieved an "A" in the course's exams and earned "A" for the course. This professor showed unusual understanding of my predicament.
My philosophy professor, Raziel Abelson, influenced greatly what career path I was to embark upon. I took philosophy as my undergraduate minor, taking his courses exclusively, and I came to discern that the field was important in my thinking. He and I thought very much alike, reasoned to the same conclusions. As a result, when I determined that becoming a minister was something I was not suited for, I fell back on philosophy as a field I would like to teach (including theology).
I became convinced in college that the role of the teacher was indeed that of a coach. I would cull the information from the texts and hand-out sheets, which enabled me to interpret the course material as the professor did. I did not need the professor to impregnate me with the table rosa of facts and figures. He was to help me to understand what the course material meant. He was to be my guide to make it through the course in superior fashion, as an outstanding student.
4. At Union Theological Seminary, New York City
I secured a scholarship, including room and board at this great theological school. From it I took away the teachings and approach of Paul Tillich by studying under his most prominent student, who later went on to become a Dean of a College in Canada.
The training was intense, since I was there much more of the time than in any other educational institution.
5. The Ph.D. from New York University, Graduate School of Arts and Science
I did my M.A. on Tillich's theology. For the doctoral dissertation I choose the Neo-Realists who were at Harvard University at the turn of the 20th Century. I presented their discussions on the topic of the certainty of perceptual knowledge claims. The gist of their argument was that if there is no reason to raise serious and legitimate question of their certainty, the claims should be accepted at face value as true and certainly true.
When I defended my understanding of their position orally, the NYU professors wanted more. They said I needed to bring their argument up to date. Importantly, Sidney Hook, Chairman, gave me the chance to add to the dissertation the writings of more recent philosophers on the topic. He did not simply let me go somewhere else, despite the fact that I was both an undergraduate and graduate student at NYU--something that doesn't happen often to be continuing on one's education all the way through the Ph.D. He gave the chance to add to the discussion that had continued after Neo-Realism and I included the writings primarily of Shoemaker, but also of others. And, I got the Ph.D. and went on to teach philosophy for several years.
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The Point I Want to Make About the Teacher/Professor taken from the above experiences as a student
The teacher is really an advocate on the student's behalf. He is preparing the student as a coach exercises his team to get ready for the big event--the team's career on the field. He is not attempting to fail the student but to bring out the capabilities the student has to succeed in later life.
Yes, I believe that teachers have wrongly interpreted their role. They do not see that the texts teach what the teacher believes is important to know to do battle in a competitive environment. They do not see their evaluations of each student's performance is part of getting the student ready to do an outstanding job on the field of life that is part of the student's subsequent career and life's objectives.
Withal, the parents are a good sounding-board of how the student is measuring up to what's expected of him by the teacher/professor as coach. They ought to provide opinion as to how worthwhile is the student's learning to his career and life objectives. In this regard, my mother and my sister Sheila did a great job helping me put my learning into perspective.
I was in the public education system through 5th grade, up to age 10-11; and then transferred into private education for the rest of my education, right through the PhD and beyond. The difference between public and private education I found was that the teacher in public school was just that--a disseminator of knowledge and evaluator of my performance, but in a private system the teacher was more of a coach. I got knowledge from the texts and the computer programs, but I got the encouragement from a teacher who believed I could do well and succeed in the mastery of the material. Let's take instances.
1. Entering Private Education
We had moved to New York City--my mother, my sister Sheila and me. I entered public school at PS 189 and spent a year of hell there! I was placed in the most advanced grade 5 class (of 3 classes) and discovered that New York City's curriculum was more advanced than what I had been taught in Buffalo schools, PS 89 and PS 30 before that. In New York, they placed you in the classroom according to how well you were doing, which meant that most of the time I was last in the list or near to last in all my courses. Added to that, I sometimes failed to take a textbook home and so was unprepared the next day. More significant, I had to fight off the bullies in the class that regularly attacked me on my way home. What a horrible experience.
But what a great Mom I had. She saw that I could have been kept behind a grade the next year and decided to take me out of the public school system. She enrolled me in private school, National Bible Institute on West 55th Street downtown away from the public school I had been attending in our neighborhood. The Institute trained teachers for the missionary field; and so I had a teacher in training. We had to pay something, but it was essentially a token amount compared to the close attention I received. The school was of a "little red school house" variety, different grades altogether in one room. It was fun to journey downtown, eat in a White Tower Restaurant around the corner, and look around at the sights in the area before going home.
Did my grades ever improve! I had been a straight-A student in Buffalo and with the help and encouragement of my teacher each of the years I was there, I returned to that status. The difference in the teacher was she believed in me! She "knew I could master the material." I learned from the texts, but I re-gained the confidence in my abilities in a warm, loving environment. It was then I came to realize that the texts and the course material taught me, but it was the coaching that made the difference in my confidence and performance.
I went through the 9th grade at that school and enjoyed and ate the attention my teachers offered all up!
2. High School at McBurney High School
How she did it, I don't know, but my mother found a YMCA high school near Central Park West, 15 W. 63rd Street. With their help I was able to secure a scholarship, so again we paid less. The school had an excellent reputation; and when I was interviewed initially, the teacher felt my grades would lower markedly, but he was mistaken. I had a great history teacher, Mr. Bowman, for the interview; and he would follow my progress for the next three years I attended.
The school was fantastic. I could not attend most of the events given at the school--we just didn't have the money. Yet I became active on the school magazine, sent to alumni, and in other clubs. Also, during the summers, I was their school helper in the office, for which I was paid, while I received the additional benefit of getting to know the staff.
I took 3 years of Latin with Mr. Beck. The disadvantage I found afterwards is I began to think and write as a Roman. To this day, I use complex sentence structures--subordinate clauses a lot in my sentences, which doesn't come off as a contemporary writing style. But I think in these complex structures, too.
I very nearly didn't graduate, because I could not pass the swimming test. Every student was required to swim the pool in 2 laps. However, the administration, seeing how weak and underdeveloped my arms are, let me out of the requirement. Another facet of the coaching aspect of being a teacher in a private school, where the students are the center of attention in the teacher's eyes--not the curriculum!
3. At University College, New York University for the B.A. in history
I had an interesting experience in Dr. Freund's chemistry class. I was virtually running a "D" in the course. I went to him and explained I didn't have a background in science. As a result of our conversations, he counted only the exams, including the practicum, in assigning my grade. I achieved an "A" in the course's exams and earned "A" for the course. This professor showed unusual understanding of my predicament.
My philosophy professor, Raziel Abelson, influenced greatly what career path I was to embark upon. I took philosophy as my undergraduate minor, taking his courses exclusively, and I came to discern that the field was important in my thinking. He and I thought very much alike, reasoned to the same conclusions. As a result, when I determined that becoming a minister was something I was not suited for, I fell back on philosophy as a field I would like to teach (including theology).
I became convinced in college that the role of the teacher was indeed that of a coach. I would cull the information from the texts and hand-out sheets, which enabled me to interpret the course material as the professor did. I did not need the professor to impregnate me with the table rosa of facts and figures. He was to help me to understand what the course material meant. He was to be my guide to make it through the course in superior fashion, as an outstanding student.
4. At Union Theological Seminary, New York City
I secured a scholarship, including room and board at this great theological school. From it I took away the teachings and approach of Paul Tillich by studying under his most prominent student, who later went on to become a Dean of a College in Canada.
The training was intense, since I was there much more of the time than in any other educational institution.
5. The Ph.D. from New York University, Graduate School of Arts and Science
I did my M.A. on Tillich's theology. For the doctoral dissertation I choose the Neo-Realists who were at Harvard University at the turn of the 20th Century. I presented their discussions on the topic of the certainty of perceptual knowledge claims. The gist of their argument was that if there is no reason to raise serious and legitimate question of their certainty, the claims should be accepted at face value as true and certainly true.
When I defended my understanding of their position orally, the NYU professors wanted more. They said I needed to bring their argument up to date. Importantly, Sidney Hook, Chairman, gave me the chance to add to the dissertation the writings of more recent philosophers on the topic. He did not simply let me go somewhere else, despite the fact that I was both an undergraduate and graduate student at NYU--something that doesn't happen often to be continuing on one's education all the way through the Ph.D. He gave the chance to add to the discussion that had continued after Neo-Realism and I included the writings primarily of Shoemaker, but also of others. And, I got the Ph.D. and went on to teach philosophy for several years.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Point I Want to Make About the Teacher/Professor taken from the above experiences as a student
The teacher is really an advocate on the student's behalf. He is preparing the student as a coach exercises his team to get ready for the big event--the team's career on the field. He is not attempting to fail the student but to bring out the capabilities the student has to succeed in later life.
Yes, I believe that teachers have wrongly interpreted their role. They do not see that the texts teach what the teacher believes is important to know to do battle in a competitive environment. They do not see their evaluations of each student's performance is part of getting the student ready to do an outstanding job on the field of life that is part of the student's subsequent career and life's objectives.
Withal, the parents are a good sounding-board of how the student is measuring up to what's expected of him by the teacher/professor as coach. They ought to provide opinion as to how worthwhile is the student's learning to his career and life objectives. In this regard, my mother and my sister Sheila did a great job helping me put my learning into perspective.
Thursday, October 23, 2014
My Use of the Safety Net: Living on Welfare
I recall a Friday afternoon in early 1990. I had no more unemployment checks coming to me. I was living in a residential hotel on Ellis Street (I think--please don't rely on accuracy in the places I name) in downtown San Francisco. I could last in that hotel for only a few weeks before I would have no money. Unemployment told me to call the county welfare department. I did; and learned that I would not necessarily be out-on-the-street nor placed in jail for being penniless, a thought that crossed my mind since I had no knowledge of the workings of welfare in any county! They said to go in on Monday and make application for welfare. The office was on Fourth Street, and I was there the moment they unlocked the front gate to the place that wonderful Monday morning. I had to take off my belt at the front door before entering. There was a glimmer of hope that I could survive. Of course, I knew nothing about homeless shelters and nothing about welfare, either. All I knew is that maybe, just maybe I could somehow survive outside of incarceration, as a free man.
The rest of the transition into welfare is a blur. I was so grateful I wouldn't just be thrown out on the street with no money. I was able to immediately apply for Section 8 housing down the block from where I was living. They had vacancies, because the hotel with a glamorous name from years gone by, something like the "Palace," was now Section 8 housing. The room came furnished--no TV--but wall-to-wall carpeting, a desk and a chair; and a bathroom with a tub and a toilet and plenty of roaches. Because it was Section 8, the rent was determined by the money welfare was giving me per month--30% of which was to go for rent. I had a room on the second floor. I had gotten rid of my car in 1989, because I could no longer afford the driver license fee. So, I just moved in a few of my belongings from down the street, a block or so over.
I was on welfare in San Francisco from 1990 to 1995; then in Santa Barbara in 1995 (December) to 1996 (June). I went to the Palm Springs area for a very short time to October, when I left with just $9 in my pocket for Los Angeles. I stayed homeless in LA at a wonderful Baptist shelter downtown, which helped me land another Section 8 on Sixth Street, where I stayed for a few years. The problem I had with the furnished room I secured was with the linoleum flooring, on which I had one really bad fall that caused me to land against the small refrigerator door. I nearly lost an eye over the incident; and vowed I needed to leave before I fell again against whatever!
Welfare required I work at some job one day a week. In San Francisco, one job I had at San Francisco Hospital that I can recall is unpacking knotted sheets that came from the huge dryers after their being washed. This I lasted at as long as I could. I was suffering from the inability to concentrate for long periods of time, a condition for which I had sought medical remedy. It was not until about 1993, that a doctor came up with some treatment that worked. My concentration time was short and caused problems in my professional performance. At least I was able to concentrate long enough to show up, though I lost every job at the end there before going on welfare, because I was unable to know always when I was to go to work! Nevertheless, on welfare I did the best I could in silence with a list in my pocket to tell me when to go to the welfare office or the job place.
My case workers in the welfare office, whether in San Francisco, Santa Barbara or Los Angeles were wonderful and understanding. The monthly allotment was meager, but I survived, especially when I had Section 8 housing. There was little money through the Palm Springs welfare; and I was forced to leave fast. They discourage people living on welfare in that area.
Best was LA, despite the small pittance. I moved from this place to that, but always the housing was adequate. I had a TV in each place and generally ate at the soup kitchens in the neighborhood downtown. Went to the library, in addition; and toured on the local buses. Such was life on the monthly welfare check. Meantime, I attended to my health through the local medical clinics. Sundays, I went to church, usually picked up by a church bus, e.g., from the Assembly of God church, Dream International Church. Also, I went to local parks and finally, learned about the Senior Centers in the area.
Then, I learned that I could receive more money per month in Hawaii. I saved up and flew over to Honolulu. I stayed at the magnificent homeless shelter run by HMS in downtown near the K-Mart. Each time I returned to Oahu, I didn't last long, because the heat didn't agree with me and I would come down with island-fever after just a short time there. The island of Oahu was just too small and I hadn't the money to travel to other islands. I enjoyed Chinatown and found the Chinese merchants friendly to people on welfare. I always went to church--some evangelical church--that was welcoming to the poor. I met a lot of interesting people in that shelter and found the social services department in the shelter encouraging, though I was much too old to work there. By the time I went over I had recovered the ability to focus. I would sit in some favorite places on the beach and watch the bathers during the day, and watch TV after dinner in the shelter at night.
When I journeyed back to the mainland, LA or San Francisco, from an unrewarding trip to Honolulu--and they were always frustrating, I would stay at a homeless shelter, such as the great Mission Rock shelter in San Francisco. But then I'd try again for Hawaii, if I could!
In sum, being on welfare was for me a boring experience; yet nonetheless I was busy all the time doing something to occupy mind and body. And I was on welfare from 1990 to when I turned 62 in San Francisco in 1937+62= 1999. Then I re-tried Section 8 housing in San Francisco and couldn't stand the poor quality of the housing units, so ventured forth into some different living situation that I'll explain in the next blog item in My Memoirs.
Really, being on welfare is just like being homeless but you have a place to go to each night. It's a holding social position with nothing extraordinary that could happen to you and you had better medical facilities and a routine life to look forward to not available to the homeless. Nothing out-of-the ordinary could happen, because the routine was so well-established, there being countless others on welfare doing exactly what you're doing. And though I'd drink occasionally, I wouldn't say I was a drunkard; in fact, I wouldn't say I did anything out-of-the ordinary, the lifestyle of being on welfare was so ingrained in my everyday activities.
The rest of the transition into welfare is a blur. I was so grateful I wouldn't just be thrown out on the street with no money. I was able to immediately apply for Section 8 housing down the block from where I was living. They had vacancies, because the hotel with a glamorous name from years gone by, something like the "Palace," was now Section 8 housing. The room came furnished--no TV--but wall-to-wall carpeting, a desk and a chair; and a bathroom with a tub and a toilet and plenty of roaches. Because it was Section 8, the rent was determined by the money welfare was giving me per month--30% of which was to go for rent. I had a room on the second floor. I had gotten rid of my car in 1989, because I could no longer afford the driver license fee. So, I just moved in a few of my belongings from down the street, a block or so over.
I was on welfare in San Francisco from 1990 to 1995; then in Santa Barbara in 1995 (December) to 1996 (June). I went to the Palm Springs area for a very short time to October, when I left with just $9 in my pocket for Los Angeles. I stayed homeless in LA at a wonderful Baptist shelter downtown, which helped me land another Section 8 on Sixth Street, where I stayed for a few years. The problem I had with the furnished room I secured was with the linoleum flooring, on which I had one really bad fall that caused me to land against the small refrigerator door. I nearly lost an eye over the incident; and vowed I needed to leave before I fell again against whatever!
Welfare required I work at some job one day a week. In San Francisco, one job I had at San Francisco Hospital that I can recall is unpacking knotted sheets that came from the huge dryers after their being washed. This I lasted at as long as I could. I was suffering from the inability to concentrate for long periods of time, a condition for which I had sought medical remedy. It was not until about 1993, that a doctor came up with some treatment that worked. My concentration time was short and caused problems in my professional performance. At least I was able to concentrate long enough to show up, though I lost every job at the end there before going on welfare, because I was unable to know always when I was to go to work! Nevertheless, on welfare I did the best I could in silence with a list in my pocket to tell me when to go to the welfare office or the job place.
My case workers in the welfare office, whether in San Francisco, Santa Barbara or Los Angeles were wonderful and understanding. The monthly allotment was meager, but I survived, especially when I had Section 8 housing. There was little money through the Palm Springs welfare; and I was forced to leave fast. They discourage people living on welfare in that area.
Best was LA, despite the small pittance. I moved from this place to that, but always the housing was adequate. I had a TV in each place and generally ate at the soup kitchens in the neighborhood downtown. Went to the library, in addition; and toured on the local buses. Such was life on the monthly welfare check. Meantime, I attended to my health through the local medical clinics. Sundays, I went to church, usually picked up by a church bus, e.g., from the Assembly of God church, Dream International Church. Also, I went to local parks and finally, learned about the Senior Centers in the area.
Then, I learned that I could receive more money per month in Hawaii. I saved up and flew over to Honolulu. I stayed at the magnificent homeless shelter run by HMS in downtown near the K-Mart. Each time I returned to Oahu, I didn't last long, because the heat didn't agree with me and I would come down with island-fever after just a short time there. The island of Oahu was just too small and I hadn't the money to travel to other islands. I enjoyed Chinatown and found the Chinese merchants friendly to people on welfare. I always went to church--some evangelical church--that was welcoming to the poor. I met a lot of interesting people in that shelter and found the social services department in the shelter encouraging, though I was much too old to work there. By the time I went over I had recovered the ability to focus. I would sit in some favorite places on the beach and watch the bathers during the day, and watch TV after dinner in the shelter at night.
When I journeyed back to the mainland, LA or San Francisco, from an unrewarding trip to Honolulu--and they were always frustrating, I would stay at a homeless shelter, such as the great Mission Rock shelter in San Francisco. But then I'd try again for Hawaii, if I could!
In sum, being on welfare was for me a boring experience; yet nonetheless I was busy all the time doing something to occupy mind and body. And I was on welfare from 1990 to when I turned 62 in San Francisco in 1937+62= 1999. Then I re-tried Section 8 housing in San Francisco and couldn't stand the poor quality of the housing units, so ventured forth into some different living situation that I'll explain in the next blog item in My Memoirs.
Really, being on welfare is just like being homeless but you have a place to go to each night. It's a holding social position with nothing extraordinary that could happen to you and you had better medical facilities and a routine life to look forward to not available to the homeless. Nothing out-of-the ordinary could happen, because the routine was so well-established, there being countless others on welfare doing exactly what you're doing. And though I'd drink occasionally, I wouldn't say I was a drunkard; in fact, I wouldn't say I did anything out-of-the ordinary, the lifestyle of being on welfare was so ingrained in my everyday activities.
Monday, October 13, 2014
And I'm still a bit homeless today!
Being A Bit Homeless Today
I live on the Social Security check sent to me each month; and that's all I have. I've been on welfare (another Memoir item) but with the social security stipend I try to make ends meet. But of course the checks don't. Rent takes up my major monthly expense.
I supplement the food I get from the Salvation Army Family Center by means of a free dinner with the lunch I take twice a week at a Senior Center in El Paso, for which I make a donation, and the food I buy and keep in my room. Then there's need for clothing, physical maintenance incidentals and the like I pay for as needed. So much for this month's social security stipend.
I have Medicare (thank God for it!) that I have used from time to time. But when there's a real medical problem requiring the care from physician and hospital, I have practically nothing! I'm put in the category of the homeless and indigent. Oh yes, hospitals want money to pay for my expenses and I do what I can, but by and large, I must rely on the goodwill of health resources that are available to me, part of the class of the indigent. LA was the most understanding of people like me, who can't afford to pay steep medical care costs and live from day-to-day. Yet as I say, their medical care has gone "down-hill" in my opinion.
Nevertheless, being next to homeless isn't all that bad. There's free entertainment, the free public library, the UTEP library, and occasional outings.
Still, at the core of the issue is I'm next to homeless. I must always be prepared for actually becoming homeless. I know what homeless shelters in the area I can go to, etc. You know the motto, "Always be prepared!"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Living Homeless
1. I think the best homeless shelter I've lived in was the Mission Rock Shelter in San Francisco run by the city under Mayor Willie Brown. I stayed there in the Senior Quarters twice or more times in the early 2000s for an accumulated tenure of one and a half years. A great shelter, despite the fact that the police would come by nearly every night looking for offenders. It housed over 700 people per night, and I think it was well run. They closed the shelter to construct the parking lot for the SF Giants Baseball team.
What a convenience that shelter was, though actually in an inlet bay. You could walk from downtown easily or at the end of my time there, I could take the subway. They fed us dinner, and we could watch TV in English or Spanish. In the morning, I would go to Grace Cathedral (where I became a member despite being homeless) for Eucharist and stop by for a Danish and coffee at a local market. Gee, those were memorable days. Then I'd go over to the downtown Public Library and do something or other--read a book, I think they allowed me to get on to Internet. By special permission from the Shelter, I was able to attend events, e.g., a class at Grace Cathedral. I think we had to be in by 6 P.M. as I remember.
Some homeless got into the Episcopal Sanctuary. You had to enter a lottery pool and see if your number had come up. Too an unsettling experience for me.
2. In Santa Barbara, I needed to stay at a shelter on and off the times I spent there. I liked the one near the beach the best, but it was hard to get into and I don't think they wanted an old person like me. Usually, they wanted the people who stayed there to work at some chore around the place. When I stayed at this particular shelter, they had some really comfortable oversized leather chairs that were just a delight to be in and watch the people come and go. The beds were comfortable too.
While in Santa Barbara, I had a pleasant routine. I'd go for breakfast, then visit my locker in a storage facility, go around town via bus, maybe go out to a neighboring town, use the library (of course), and in the afternoons before going back to the shelter, go for coffee downtown, enjoying State Street scenery. I tell you it was a delight, living in a shelter. I finished reading many a book during my stays in SB. The reason I kept going back is that I had first lived on welfare in Santa Barbara and stayed at a delightful facility for the poor. (But I left to go down to LA for a first time and lost my room. It was no big deal because the guy I shared a room with snored something awful.) Oh, at lunch, I would go back to the shelter for a most delicious experience! Gee, they served great lunches there; and it attracted the homeless far and wide.
When I could no longer get into the shelter near the Beach, I went to the Rescue Mission shelter. I attended the church service required of each person who stayed at this shelter. They featured bunk double beds and the dorm was really drafty, but okay. Food was not a memorable as the shelter nearest the beach, but I spent some pleasant times there. The daytime routine was the same regarded where I stayed at night.
Living in a shelter, you can't bring much luggage. In Santa Barbara, everybody who could used a storage facility locker to keep what you didn't want to carry. Indeed, as a general rule, living a shelter means you've become immobilized to anything other than enjoying the out-of-doors and reading. While many shelters offer computers for use, the public libraries generally do not and you may be kept off internet. It's just a time to relax and hope something will come up that puts you back into the social scheme of things. In Omaha, Nebraska, I noted the libraries permitted the homeless to use their computers on a daily sign-in basis.
3. In Washington, DC, I stayed at several shelters. The best was Franklin School near 14th and K--would you believe such a nice neighbor. They permitted the homeless to stay out, once they registered, until 10 P.M.; the beds were nice and the people who worked there understanding and friendly. We watched TV, too. It closed--for one reason, they had a problem of bed bugs, though I was never bothered by them.
Another good shelter was CCNV--hard to get in, though. It is on 2nd Street and E, I believe. Church groups would come by and hand out food and goodies some nights a week. The problem there was they had bunk beds and crowded conditions--so if someone around you was really sick, germs could migrate over to other beds.
I understood there were some good shelters in Virginia, if you knew where to go.
But the other shelters--like on 14th Street, run by church funded organizations--were terrible. I just watched TV and slept at those places. Horrible and condescending to the poor, in my opinion.
In DC I enjoyed National Cathedral and other churches, such as St. Stephen's. It was fun to visit the park on 7th Street, the Zoo, and on and on. Don't forget the Kennedy Center that has nightly free entertainment. What a city; such a delight. It's a shame that if you're homeless, you must pass by the splendors of that city. And the city has become really expensive to rent a place, so the poor too are being driven out.
But the homeless shelter that literally drove me out of DC the last time was the New York Avenue Shelter, run by the Catholics. It's the one place where I found the inmates controlled the "asylum!" I hadn't known that the bed assigned to me by the staff was a favorite of one of the homeless. He claimed that I was sleeping in his bed all night long; the guards apparently were oblivious to the strife going on there; and ultimately, blamed me for something or other. The food was ok; it must be because the same homeless people claim their squatter's rights to their beds months upon months upon months, I learned finally. That one gruesome night was enough for me. It's the shelter, too, that caters to the many homeless, so it's busy.
4. In Honolulu, Hawaii there's the great homeless shelter HMS downtown by the K-Mart. Though guests must sleep on mats on the floor, the place is terrific. You meet people from all over the world, e.g., Australia, New Zealand. The food is very good, supplemented by the leftovers of the nearby restaurants. They try to help people get into the mainstream of the Island as much as possible. The libraries are pleasant places to read and converse. The scenery is fantastic, especially the ocean sights. However, the dwellers there don't like the homeless.
St. Andrew's Episcopal Church features a service for the poor and a delightful dinner on Sunday afternoon. There's plenty of places to rest on the beach or nearby the beach.
--------------------------------------------
Being a bit homeless has the advantage of eating at dinnertime with families and seeing the antics of the kids awhile nearly every day, a premium pleasure!
I live on the Social Security check sent to me each month; and that's all I have. I've been on welfare (another Memoir item) but with the social security stipend I try to make ends meet. But of course the checks don't. Rent takes up my major monthly expense.
I supplement the food I get from the Salvation Army Family Center by means of a free dinner with the lunch I take twice a week at a Senior Center in El Paso, for which I make a donation, and the food I buy and keep in my room. Then there's need for clothing, physical maintenance incidentals and the like I pay for as needed. So much for this month's social security stipend.
I have Medicare (thank God for it!) that I have used from time to time. But when there's a real medical problem requiring the care from physician and hospital, I have practically nothing! I'm put in the category of the homeless and indigent. Oh yes, hospitals want money to pay for my expenses and I do what I can, but by and large, I must rely on the goodwill of health resources that are available to me, part of the class of the indigent. LA was the most understanding of people like me, who can't afford to pay steep medical care costs and live from day-to-day. Yet as I say, their medical care has gone "down-hill" in my opinion.
Nevertheless, being next to homeless isn't all that bad. There's free entertainment, the free public library, the UTEP library, and occasional outings.
Still, at the core of the issue is I'm next to homeless. I must always be prepared for actually becoming homeless. I know what homeless shelters in the area I can go to, etc. You know the motto, "Always be prepared!"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Living Homeless
1. I think the best homeless shelter I've lived in was the Mission Rock Shelter in San Francisco run by the city under Mayor Willie Brown. I stayed there in the Senior Quarters twice or more times in the early 2000s for an accumulated tenure of one and a half years. A great shelter, despite the fact that the police would come by nearly every night looking for offenders. It housed over 700 people per night, and I think it was well run. They closed the shelter to construct the parking lot for the SF Giants Baseball team.
What a convenience that shelter was, though actually in an inlet bay. You could walk from downtown easily or at the end of my time there, I could take the subway. They fed us dinner, and we could watch TV in English or Spanish. In the morning, I would go to Grace Cathedral (where I became a member despite being homeless) for Eucharist and stop by for a Danish and coffee at a local market. Gee, those were memorable days. Then I'd go over to the downtown Public Library and do something or other--read a book, I think they allowed me to get on to Internet. By special permission from the Shelter, I was able to attend events, e.g., a class at Grace Cathedral. I think we had to be in by 6 P.M. as I remember.
Some homeless got into the Episcopal Sanctuary. You had to enter a lottery pool and see if your number had come up. Too an unsettling experience for me.
2. In Santa Barbara, I needed to stay at a shelter on and off the times I spent there. I liked the one near the beach the best, but it was hard to get into and I don't think they wanted an old person like me. Usually, they wanted the people who stayed there to work at some chore around the place. When I stayed at this particular shelter, they had some really comfortable oversized leather chairs that were just a delight to be in and watch the people come and go. The beds were comfortable too.
While in Santa Barbara, I had a pleasant routine. I'd go for breakfast, then visit my locker in a storage facility, go around town via bus, maybe go out to a neighboring town, use the library (of course), and in the afternoons before going back to the shelter, go for coffee downtown, enjoying State Street scenery. I tell you it was a delight, living in a shelter. I finished reading many a book during my stays in SB. The reason I kept going back is that I had first lived on welfare in Santa Barbara and stayed at a delightful facility for the poor. (But I left to go down to LA for a first time and lost my room. It was no big deal because the guy I shared a room with snored something awful.) Oh, at lunch, I would go back to the shelter for a most delicious experience! Gee, they served great lunches there; and it attracted the homeless far and wide.
When I could no longer get into the shelter near the Beach, I went to the Rescue Mission shelter. I attended the church service required of each person who stayed at this shelter. They featured bunk double beds and the dorm was really drafty, but okay. Food was not a memorable as the shelter nearest the beach, but I spent some pleasant times there. The daytime routine was the same regarded where I stayed at night.
Living in a shelter, you can't bring much luggage. In Santa Barbara, everybody who could used a storage facility locker to keep what you didn't want to carry. Indeed, as a general rule, living a shelter means you've become immobilized to anything other than enjoying the out-of-doors and reading. While many shelters offer computers for use, the public libraries generally do not and you may be kept off internet. It's just a time to relax and hope something will come up that puts you back into the social scheme of things. In Omaha, Nebraska, I noted the libraries permitted the homeless to use their computers on a daily sign-in basis.
3. In Washington, DC, I stayed at several shelters. The best was Franklin School near 14th and K--would you believe such a nice neighbor. They permitted the homeless to stay out, once they registered, until 10 P.M.; the beds were nice and the people who worked there understanding and friendly. We watched TV, too. It closed--for one reason, they had a problem of bed bugs, though I was never bothered by them.
Another good shelter was CCNV--hard to get in, though. It is on 2nd Street and E, I believe. Church groups would come by and hand out food and goodies some nights a week. The problem there was they had bunk beds and crowded conditions--so if someone around you was really sick, germs could migrate over to other beds.
I understood there were some good shelters in Virginia, if you knew where to go.
But the other shelters--like on 14th Street, run by church funded organizations--were terrible. I just watched TV and slept at those places. Horrible and condescending to the poor, in my opinion.
In DC I enjoyed National Cathedral and other churches, such as St. Stephen's. It was fun to visit the park on 7th Street, the Zoo, and on and on. Don't forget the Kennedy Center that has nightly free entertainment. What a city; such a delight. It's a shame that if you're homeless, you must pass by the splendors of that city. And the city has become really expensive to rent a place, so the poor too are being driven out.
But the homeless shelter that literally drove me out of DC the last time was the New York Avenue Shelter, run by the Catholics. It's the one place where I found the inmates controlled the "asylum!" I hadn't known that the bed assigned to me by the staff was a favorite of one of the homeless. He claimed that I was sleeping in his bed all night long; the guards apparently were oblivious to the strife going on there; and ultimately, blamed me for something or other. The food was ok; it must be because the same homeless people claim their squatter's rights to their beds months upon months upon months, I learned finally. That one gruesome night was enough for me. It's the shelter, too, that caters to the many homeless, so it's busy.
4. In Honolulu, Hawaii there's the great homeless shelter HMS downtown by the K-Mart. Though guests must sleep on mats on the floor, the place is terrific. You meet people from all over the world, e.g., Australia, New Zealand. The food is very good, supplemented by the leftovers of the nearby restaurants. They try to help people get into the mainstream of the Island as much as possible. The libraries are pleasant places to read and converse. The scenery is fantastic, especially the ocean sights. However, the dwellers there don't like the homeless.
St. Andrew's Episcopal Church features a service for the poor and a delightful dinner on Sunday afternoon. There's plenty of places to rest on the beach or nearby the beach.
--------------------------------------------
Being a bit homeless has the advantage of eating at dinnertime with families and seeing the antics of the kids awhile nearly every day, a premium pleasure!
Friday, October 10, 2014
Encounters with the Medical
Herein is a composite of what I've learned throughout the years about my body and how to treat it. It is based on the wisdom about things medical come up by the Catholic Worker, whose founder was Dorothy Day in the mid-20th Century. I've found it useful to maintain a consistent approach; and though I came into contact with the Catholic Worker in LA maybe in the early 2000s, they're suggestions have given me that consistency I have needed.
There's a lot that can wrong with the body. What I think Catholic Worker's approach is to wait until the underlying cause emerges, if you can! Anytime there's blood, you have to see a doctor immediately, of course.
1. Encounter with a physician early in life--ages 7ff. I suffered from the Buffalo weather. I was treated by a doctor in the house, who advised my mother one day when I was home from school to lie down with me, that I was apparently hemorrhaging, that I could possibly die. My mother did just that; and I pulled out ok. Ever since I've found it hard to trust doctors! It's called the white smock syndrome.
2. Then in college I was playing softball and dislocated my right pinkie. I went to a neighborhood doctor, and he wanted to operate. My mother sent me to the Presbyterian Hospital in New York and the doctor I saw was for an exercise method to bring it back into use. That method worked very well, though I'm sure it took longer. I would be exercising the finger on the bus and while walking. I learned operations aren't always the key.
3. I latched onto taking vitamins; and still take them to this day. I'm 77.
4. Earlier, when I had sprains, I used the heating pad; and find it of enormous use! Stimulates the lower extremities, too.
5. From 1989-1993, I was experiencing difficulty in focusing and maintaining concentration. I spoke to the Medical Clinic on 7th St. in downtown L.A. and they tried to help me. In the meantime, I would have to make sequential lists in order to keep track of what I was to do next. A doctor in residence came into the picture. She tried as had others in the same clinic. And, after this prolonged period, I was able to concentrate without the use of lists. She confessed she wasn't sure what she had done, but "it" worked! That enabled me to think about getting out of L.A. should I had so desired.
I theorized that the fact I drank unbottled water in Sao Paulo, Brazil was the real cause of the concentration loss, but I don't really know. I thought water from the tap in a 5-star hotel was safe enough. It was at least 5 years later that I experienced the problem or at least came to recognize it.
That doctor joined the Navy and last I heard she was stationed in Evergreen, Washington.
6. When I was in the mid-50s, I became convinced that I would need dialysis treatments. But a doctor at San Francisco General Hospital suggested a treatment at a Washington, DC Hospital. I went there and found the treatments--not dialysis--did the trick; and I haven't had any noticeable problems with the right kidney since 1994! Wow, that was some treatment administered to me! I thought I was a goner!
7. I left L.A. because of the poor health care I was receiving at Hudson Clinic. They make you use the Clinic in your zip code area. One day in February of the last year I lived there, I went in because I had stepped on a ceramic broken cup and got a sliver in my foot. The doctor took x-rays and declared there was nothing wrong with my foot--when I was in terrible pain and was limping. I talked to the head physician and got him to agree that my doctor should scrape the heel of the foot. Wallah, the heel was then okay. I said I can't take chances like this anymore and got out of town. That was about 6 years ago. The doctors are just too overloaded with patients.
8. Then, three years ago, I had bone chips in my right ankle. I was living in Reno at the time; and I was able to secure a great doctor. It took 2 operations; but I don't need a walker or a cane, or a wheelchair.
9. I was living in Omaha about 2 years ago and kept falling in the ice and snow. The doctor I had there recommended to leave, which I did, immediately. Otherwise, he said I'd need an operation on my upper arm--the rotary cup.
10. I moved to Vegas and discovered I couldn't take that oppressive heat. I was having trouble breathing, plus came down with a severe skin rash.
I guess El Paso is the best climate for me.
Addendum: .
A1. I believe always use a second opinion from a different health company than used to make the first opinion--if possible.
A2. Plenty of greens and fruits, especially bananas, I love green chilis.
A3. I use sugar sparingly, artificial sugar more.
A4. As has been pointed out on the TV, we're told to keep using medicines to a minimum. Don't overdue is my motto!
A5. I try to always pace myself. I believe it's very important for older people. For example, I just moved to a very nice downtown residence from a hotel I was living in but could not stay because of an altercation and disagreement with the management-owner! So I moved into an even better place down the street.
Anyway, in order to make the move efficient, I first planned and developed a timeline from start to finish. I had already had a place to move to in mind. I then went and paid the rent for a week and then I rested for 4 hours. A move is a major stress on the body and mind, so the rest was needed, I felt. I figured the move would take 4 trips to take out all my stuff; and I enforced that limitation on trips.
Back and forth with approximately 45 minutes of rest in the interim between trips. The result was I moved from 4 P.M. to 9 P.M. Complete; all over! No serious or even minor bodily repercussions. That's the point. I feel if I didn't pace myself I'd become subject to bodily and mental stress that could lead to physical conditions of hazard to my wellbeing.
I've seen plenty of instances where older people did not pace themselves and wound up becoming a physical wreck. I needed to avoid such a resultant circumstance. I've used this method very recently with excellent results.
A6. I know this may sound silly, but I need to daily attend to my bodily orifices to assure they are open and clean--eye, ear, nose (especially!), even throat, and the lower extremities.
A7. Of course, I use a limited amount of salt, but I make an exception for popcorn or peanuts!
A8. This one I feel is really important, and I learned it from New Age Philosophy. LOVE MYSELF. I could go down the body's chakras and tell myself how much I love that area of my body, but I simply take some area of the body "for the day" and tell myself I love it so much! Yes, I love it dearly!
A9. I want to stress the point that seniors ought not to be held to leases or housing commitments. They must be travelling-capable without thought of what they are leaving behind, if they want to live a long life. For there might arise physical problems in their bodies should they remain committed to a place and a location. That's what I believe and have lived by it.
A senior must be flexible and open to the idea that if his body is unable to successfully maintain a healthy condition, he must move where he is more likely to flourish. I've had to make the move several times in later life.
A10. I've found the old-fashioned remedy of emptying the bowels important, especially to get rid of things lying around in the blood-stream that could lead to more serious bodily conditions. I don't have much money, so I have to rely on the tried and true through the ages!
Currently, 12/2/14
I'm now under medical care, having been hospitalized for four days at UMC Hospital, El Paso. Tests currently underway.
The doctors are in charge of my life from now on!
JLO
There's a lot that can wrong with the body. What I think Catholic Worker's approach is to wait until the underlying cause emerges, if you can! Anytime there's blood, you have to see a doctor immediately, of course.
1. Encounter with a physician early in life--ages 7ff. I suffered from the Buffalo weather. I was treated by a doctor in the house, who advised my mother one day when I was home from school to lie down with me, that I was apparently hemorrhaging, that I could possibly die. My mother did just that; and I pulled out ok. Ever since I've found it hard to trust doctors! It's called the white smock syndrome.
2. Then in college I was playing softball and dislocated my right pinkie. I went to a neighborhood doctor, and he wanted to operate. My mother sent me to the Presbyterian Hospital in New York and the doctor I saw was for an exercise method to bring it back into use. That method worked very well, though I'm sure it took longer. I would be exercising the finger on the bus and while walking. I learned operations aren't always the key.
3. I latched onto taking vitamins; and still take them to this day. I'm 77.
4. Earlier, when I had sprains, I used the heating pad; and find it of enormous use! Stimulates the lower extremities, too.
5. From 1989-1993, I was experiencing difficulty in focusing and maintaining concentration. I spoke to the Medical Clinic on 7th St. in downtown L.A. and they tried to help me. In the meantime, I would have to make sequential lists in order to keep track of what I was to do next. A doctor in residence came into the picture. She tried as had others in the same clinic. And, after this prolonged period, I was able to concentrate without the use of lists. She confessed she wasn't sure what she had done, but "it" worked! That enabled me to think about getting out of L.A. should I had so desired.
I theorized that the fact I drank unbottled water in Sao Paulo, Brazil was the real cause of the concentration loss, but I don't really know. I thought water from the tap in a 5-star hotel was safe enough. It was at least 5 years later that I experienced the problem or at least came to recognize it.
That doctor joined the Navy and last I heard she was stationed in Evergreen, Washington.
6. When I was in the mid-50s, I became convinced that I would need dialysis treatments. But a doctor at San Francisco General Hospital suggested a treatment at a Washington, DC Hospital. I went there and found the treatments--not dialysis--did the trick; and I haven't had any noticeable problems with the right kidney since 1994! Wow, that was some treatment administered to me! I thought I was a goner!
7. I left L.A. because of the poor health care I was receiving at Hudson Clinic. They make you use the Clinic in your zip code area. One day in February of the last year I lived there, I went in because I had stepped on a ceramic broken cup and got a sliver in my foot. The doctor took x-rays and declared there was nothing wrong with my foot--when I was in terrible pain and was limping. I talked to the head physician and got him to agree that my doctor should scrape the heel of the foot. Wallah, the heel was then okay. I said I can't take chances like this anymore and got out of town. That was about 6 years ago. The doctors are just too overloaded with patients.
8. Then, three years ago, I had bone chips in my right ankle. I was living in Reno at the time; and I was able to secure a great doctor. It took 2 operations; but I don't need a walker or a cane, or a wheelchair.
9. I was living in Omaha about 2 years ago and kept falling in the ice and snow. The doctor I had there recommended to leave, which I did, immediately. Otherwise, he said I'd need an operation on my upper arm--the rotary cup.
10. I moved to Vegas and discovered I couldn't take that oppressive heat. I was having trouble breathing, plus came down with a severe skin rash.
I guess El Paso is the best climate for me.
Addendum: .
A1. I believe always use a second opinion from a different health company than used to make the first opinion--if possible.
A2. Plenty of greens and fruits, especially bananas, I love green chilis.
A3. I use sugar sparingly, artificial sugar more.
A4. As has been pointed out on the TV, we're told to keep using medicines to a minimum. Don't overdue is my motto!
A5. I try to always pace myself. I believe it's very important for older people. For example, I just moved to a very nice downtown residence from a hotel I was living in but could not stay because of an altercation and disagreement with the management-owner! So I moved into an even better place down the street.
Anyway, in order to make the move efficient, I first planned and developed a timeline from start to finish. I had already had a place to move to in mind. I then went and paid the rent for a week and then I rested for 4 hours. A move is a major stress on the body and mind, so the rest was needed, I felt. I figured the move would take 4 trips to take out all my stuff; and I enforced that limitation on trips.
Back and forth with approximately 45 minutes of rest in the interim between trips. The result was I moved from 4 P.M. to 9 P.M. Complete; all over! No serious or even minor bodily repercussions. That's the point. I feel if I didn't pace myself I'd become subject to bodily and mental stress that could lead to physical conditions of hazard to my wellbeing.
I've seen plenty of instances where older people did not pace themselves and wound up becoming a physical wreck. I needed to avoid such a resultant circumstance. I've used this method very recently with excellent results.
A6. I know this may sound silly, but I need to daily attend to my bodily orifices to assure they are open and clean--eye, ear, nose (especially!), even throat, and the lower extremities.
A7. Of course, I use a limited amount of salt, but I make an exception for popcorn or peanuts!
A8. This one I feel is really important, and I learned it from New Age Philosophy. LOVE MYSELF. I could go down the body's chakras and tell myself how much I love that area of my body, but I simply take some area of the body "for the day" and tell myself I love it so much! Yes, I love it dearly!
A9. I want to stress the point that seniors ought not to be held to leases or housing commitments. They must be travelling-capable without thought of what they are leaving behind, if they want to live a long life. For there might arise physical problems in their bodies should they remain committed to a place and a location. That's what I believe and have lived by it.
A senior must be flexible and open to the idea that if his body is unable to successfully maintain a healthy condition, he must move where he is more likely to flourish. I've had to make the move several times in later life.
A10. I've found the old-fashioned remedy of emptying the bowels important, especially to get rid of things lying around in the blood-stream that could lead to more serious bodily conditions. I don't have much money, so I have to rely on the tried and true through the ages!
Currently, 12/2/14
I'm now under medical care, having been hospitalized for four days at UMC Hospital, El Paso. Tests currently underway.
The doctors are in charge of my life from now on!
JLO
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Pitfalls in Career Changing
When you think a career change is a good thing, it's unlikely you've thought it through enough!
I went through a career change from age 41-43, and I now regard it as a nightmare. I just didn't devote enough time to wife and the kids. I let my family members meander and wonder about aimlessly, completely unable to cope with changes that were about to occur, while I, totally focused, on making the career transition, ran roughshod over their desires and needs. I continued my daytime job as college instructor in philosophy at College of DuPage, Glen Ellyn, Illinois. Most of my free time was taken up traipsing hither and yon to one university in the Chicago area, then another in order to take courses that would qualify me as a financial computer programmer.
It all started at my community college faculty senate meeting one fateful day. The chairman of the senate, an English instructor, called the meeting to order, ran through the role of senators, including me, and then commented, "We know each other pretty well now; give us twenty years in these seats and we'll know not only each other's kids but grandkids and an array of our relatives!" I don't know why that comment had such a motivating effect to change the direction of my life was headed. I simply imagined myself in twenty years in that same seat; and I balked. "Not on your life! That's not me! I won't be here!" I vowed to myself.
I was forced to examine my professional commitments: who was I? Today, we refer to this moment of self-revulsion as "a mid-life crisis." Questioning my life's routines, I had to admit that I did not enter the teaching field honestly. It was too confining. "I'm a humanist in the tradition of Machiavelli (author of The Prince), of Petrarch, and of the Florentine thinkers of the 13th Century Italy; of the English humanist Robert Grossetastes (1175-1255). Like the humanists of yore, I fashioned myself capable of absorbing vast amounts of knowledge in literature, art, and science, even making mad dashes into the realm of the occult occasionally to expand my knowledge horizon. Was there some career that I could enter that would permit me to go beyond the confining world of academia, to delve into the depths of the human experience? At that time, the computer field was burgeoning in all fields--technological and cultural. I was drawn to the life of Englishman Bertrand Russell, living at the dawn of the computer revolution. He, too, had a broad interest in the human dilemma. He was also a leading force in the development of the digital logical code; and his background was philosophical. I could become like him!
I needed to elicit familial support for my career change--from teaching philosophy to computer programming (preferably in business computing, that would enable me to participate in industry and technology via programming). I convinced my family members, who really were after me to seek employment in California, where my wife (at the time) and her two children were from, that as a computer programmer, I could be in better position to get them back to the West Coast, than I could remaining as a philosophy professor. Of course, I did not understand nor did they that the wife would need a new job, the kids would be leaving their friends and a cozy environment in Illinois, but we all became entranced with the dream of CALIFORNIA, HERE WE COME!
I enrolled first at DePaul University, then the University of Illinois--Chicago Circle in computer programming languages; and at my own community college I took Accounting 101. It took every available hour I could spare to learn about the computer and programming languages in business in a busy life of teaching philosophy every weekday and handling teaching chores weekends. But I made real progress in a short period of time; and thus I was soon ready to look for a starting job in computer programming at some corporate firm. But I did not look for this job in the Chicago area; nor did I jump off the cliff by choosing the West Coast--too difficult to crack from the Midwest. I chose Denver, Colorado! It wasn't long before I got a nibble from an oil and petroleum company on Stout Street. I was hired within a matter of a few weeks, sight unseen. I hadn't even flown out for an interview!
So, the family saw me off at the O'Hare Airport, where I departed for Denver. It was early September. The wife really helped out a lot: so as to make the move possible, she took a part-time teaching position as an English instructor at my college. I was granted a sabbatical leave-of-absence. We had to draw upon savings, because a neophyte programmer doesn't make much. In Denver, I lived frugally, but nicely--good apartment, great working conditions, plenty of time to get more self-training in programming to improve my skills. I did o.k.; and the move was working.
At Thanksgiving the same year, the company flew out my family for a visit. Renting a car, we looked the city over and its environs, including the wonderful Boulder. We even touched base with real estate housing and noted several good options for a house. Great vacation, to be sure. I showed them where I worked. The company even was prepared to make suggestions where the wife might find a suitable teaching position. When the wife got back to Glen Ellyn, however, I was emphatically informed that Denver wasn't good enough: "You promised we'd get back to California!"
I, somewhat stunned, put out feelers with employment agencies in the Bay Area, California without thinking what I was doing. Believe it or not, I got inquiries as to my availability almost immediately. To make a long story short, I was hired by an insurance company in San Rafael--again, after an interview at their home office using a rental Trans Am car they paid for and staying at a nice San Francisco hotel. She wanted to live in Palo Alto, for some reason, and we wound up in Palo Alto--in a really spacious apartment, by tapping some of our retirement money that had been sent us once I resigned from DuPage College.
Wouldn't you know, within two short years of a seventeen-year marriage, I was divorced; never again to see the kids or the (former) wife. I was back a bachelor; and my finances were on sandy, shaky ground. Did it work out? I think if Bertrand Russell had been alive, I would have had words with him!
I went through a career change from age 41-43, and I now regard it as a nightmare. I just didn't devote enough time to wife and the kids. I let my family members meander and wonder about aimlessly, completely unable to cope with changes that were about to occur, while I, totally focused, on making the career transition, ran roughshod over their desires and needs. I continued my daytime job as college instructor in philosophy at College of DuPage, Glen Ellyn, Illinois. Most of my free time was taken up traipsing hither and yon to one university in the Chicago area, then another in order to take courses that would qualify me as a financial computer programmer.
It all started at my community college faculty senate meeting one fateful day. The chairman of the senate, an English instructor, called the meeting to order, ran through the role of senators, including me, and then commented, "We know each other pretty well now; give us twenty years in these seats and we'll know not only each other's kids but grandkids and an array of our relatives!" I don't know why that comment had such a motivating effect to change the direction of my life was headed. I simply imagined myself in twenty years in that same seat; and I balked. "Not on your life! That's not me! I won't be here!" I vowed to myself.
I was forced to examine my professional commitments: who was I? Today, we refer to this moment of self-revulsion as "a mid-life crisis." Questioning my life's routines, I had to admit that I did not enter the teaching field honestly. It was too confining. "I'm a humanist in the tradition of Machiavelli (author of The Prince), of Petrarch, and of the Florentine thinkers of the 13th Century Italy; of the English humanist Robert Grossetastes (1175-1255). Like the humanists of yore, I fashioned myself capable of absorbing vast amounts of knowledge in literature, art, and science, even making mad dashes into the realm of the occult occasionally to expand my knowledge horizon. Was there some career that I could enter that would permit me to go beyond the confining world of academia, to delve into the depths of the human experience? At that time, the computer field was burgeoning in all fields--technological and cultural. I was drawn to the life of Englishman Bertrand Russell, living at the dawn of the computer revolution. He, too, had a broad interest in the human dilemma. He was also a leading force in the development of the digital logical code; and his background was philosophical. I could become like him!
I needed to elicit familial support for my career change--from teaching philosophy to computer programming (preferably in business computing, that would enable me to participate in industry and technology via programming). I convinced my family members, who really were after me to seek employment in California, where my wife (at the time) and her two children were from, that as a computer programmer, I could be in better position to get them back to the West Coast, than I could remaining as a philosophy professor. Of course, I did not understand nor did they that the wife would need a new job, the kids would be leaving their friends and a cozy environment in Illinois, but we all became entranced with the dream of CALIFORNIA, HERE WE COME!
I enrolled first at DePaul University, then the University of Illinois--Chicago Circle in computer programming languages; and at my own community college I took Accounting 101. It took every available hour I could spare to learn about the computer and programming languages in business in a busy life of teaching philosophy every weekday and handling teaching chores weekends. But I made real progress in a short period of time; and thus I was soon ready to look for a starting job in computer programming at some corporate firm. But I did not look for this job in the Chicago area; nor did I jump off the cliff by choosing the West Coast--too difficult to crack from the Midwest. I chose Denver, Colorado! It wasn't long before I got a nibble from an oil and petroleum company on Stout Street. I was hired within a matter of a few weeks, sight unseen. I hadn't even flown out for an interview!
So, the family saw me off at the O'Hare Airport, where I departed for Denver. It was early September. The wife really helped out a lot: so as to make the move possible, she took a part-time teaching position as an English instructor at my college. I was granted a sabbatical leave-of-absence. We had to draw upon savings, because a neophyte programmer doesn't make much. In Denver, I lived frugally, but nicely--good apartment, great working conditions, plenty of time to get more self-training in programming to improve my skills. I did o.k.; and the move was working.
At Thanksgiving the same year, the company flew out my family for a visit. Renting a car, we looked the city over and its environs, including the wonderful Boulder. We even touched base with real estate housing and noted several good options for a house. Great vacation, to be sure. I showed them where I worked. The company even was prepared to make suggestions where the wife might find a suitable teaching position. When the wife got back to Glen Ellyn, however, I was emphatically informed that Denver wasn't good enough: "You promised we'd get back to California!"
I, somewhat stunned, put out feelers with employment agencies in the Bay Area, California without thinking what I was doing. Believe it or not, I got inquiries as to my availability almost immediately. To make a long story short, I was hired by an insurance company in San Rafael--again, after an interview at their home office using a rental Trans Am car they paid for and staying at a nice San Francisco hotel. She wanted to live in Palo Alto, for some reason, and we wound up in Palo Alto--in a really spacious apartment, by tapping some of our retirement money that had been sent us once I resigned from DuPage College.
Wouldn't you know, within two short years of a seventeen-year marriage, I was divorced; never again to see the kids or the (former) wife. I was back a bachelor; and my finances were on sandy, shaky ground. Did it work out? I think if Bertrand Russell had been alive, I would have had words with him!
Monday, September 29, 2014
Distrustful of one another
I was going to Moscow, Russia on a 9-day vacation, the Spring of 1988. My travel agency had arranged for sightseeing and a tour guide to accompany me during the first three days. I figured it would take me that long to get acclimated.
I took a flight out of San Francisco to New York, then on to Frankfurt, Germany. The flight was uneventful until I was to change planes in Frankfurt, manually transferring my luggage from the United plan I just got off to an Aeroflot flight headed for Moscow. I waited patiently at the baggage rotunda as everybody else's luggage was spotted and picked up except for mine. I went to the United baggage counter and asked where my luggage was. "I'm sorry but your luggage was not on the plane," a German girl explained. "You cannot go on, until it is found!" she added indignantly.
That would mean staying in the airport waiting room, heaven knows how long. I knew the tour guide would be waiting for me in Moscow; and to alter all my plans would take some time--contact the travel agency in New York, re-schedule with Aeroflot, that didn't have a daily flight from Frankfurt, etc. What a mess! At that time, very few Americans visited Moscow. Indeed, I may have been the only American scheduled for that flight. It was somewhat difficult for Westerners to book to Russia in those days.
With no baggage, I went to the Aeroflot ticket counter and confirmed my reservation with them--in two hours. They could sent me the luggage in Moscow, whenever it turned up, I thought. My flight was announced, and I was in line to board at the gate. The clerk behind the gate's desk announced my name, "Mr. John Oastler, we will seat you now." I thought t hat was a nice gesture, given that Aeroflot hadn't lost my baggage. A flight attendant did indeed greet me, and I was escorted to my seat. It was in the economy class to the rear of the plane. She didn't comment about the fact that I had no baggage, just a carry-on bag. I was glad they were permitting me to go on to Moscow, no questions asked.
The flight from Germany to Russia was long. About half way through the journey, a bunch of us passengers gathered by the attendants' area and got talking. Most knew English. I struck up a conversation with a woman who told me she was a governmental administrator in the Eastern provinces. She explained she had bought a number of electronic gadgets in Europe, because they were unavailable in Russia. I mentioned that this was my first trip to Russia. "Are you scared?" she queried mysteriously.
Now I thought that was a bit uncalled for. Nevertheless, I said, "No, I don't think so...No, I'm not." Thereupon she mentioned there's a detention center for unwanted foreigners to be shipped away just near the Moscow airport. "Interesting," was my only reply. Just because I was probably the only American on board didn't mean I would be personal non grata on entering!
I thought the tour guide would be waiting for me at the Moscow terminal, holding up a sign "John Oastler." Nobody waiting for me. So I caught a taxi into the city, the German sector of town, where I would be staying. The desk clerk handed me my room key, took my passport for keeping temporarily, and stated that I'd get it back upon leaving. I took the elevator to the third floor and proceeded to look for my room number. It wasn't where I thought it should be, given the signs in the hallways. Entering my room, the door open before I got there, I discovered two workmen were drilling holes around the in-wall radio close to my single bed. I thought that strange--could the hotel be tampering so to send gaseous fumes through the radio's speaker, if they thought I was a spy? I was becoming fearful.
The room was small but adequate. Later that evening in the hotel bar, I was asked by a customer who also knew English how much I was paying for the room. I told him; and he replied that for Russians it was a third cheaper! Hmmm, some Russian hospitality to an unsuspecting American!
My tour guide showed up the following morning and took me around. I had asked her to take me where I could buy a pair of shoes--an errand I had planned to do in order to interact with Russians in the stores. As we went about, I noticed how Russians dressed in clothes to last virtually forever! In a shoe store, I tried on several pairs of shoes, after each time, my interpreter would explain to passer-by Russians what I thought of the quality: "He likes it. He says their very practical and will last long!" Finally, she shouted out for everyone hear when I was prepared to make a purchase, "He's bought them! He's putting them on to wear now!"
That same day, as my tour guide and I became more acquainted, she mentioned in a taxi that some Russian government officials wanted to speak with me. Without asking for my consent, she directed the driver to an apparent government office building in downtown Moscow, not far from the American Embassy, which she dutifully pointed out as we drove by. Alighting from the taxi, I hastily scanned the side of the building I could see, looking for bars on the windows. No bars! We went up to the fifth floor. I had become nervous and fearful all over again.
I was shown into an office with two men behind a singular desk. they turned out to be cordial and friendly, asking what I had done in Moscow so far. Thereupon, after noting I had made useful suggestions to the Brazilian government recently in my trips to Sao Paolo, Brazil, they wondered would I be wiling to help them design a pending new constitution for what would become the Russian Federation of Independent States (the name now chosen at the time). They said they represented President Mikhail Gorbachev. I responded that I was very familiar with the American Constitution and knew their constitution currently in effect. I'd do what I could to help them.
At that moment my fears were all allayed! Over the next few days, I met with them and others in detailed discussions about Russian commerce and industry and its culture. Recorded in 8 hours of tape (I understand), nearly all my suggestions became adopted structurally.
Oh, 5 days into the trip, I received my luggage delivered to my hotel room by Aeroflot. The clothes inside were drenched but nonetheless usable for the remaining trip. Was their water-logged condition a sign that some Russian didn't like my presence in Moscow? I was too partied out to care!
I took a flight out of San Francisco to New York, then on to Frankfurt, Germany. The flight was uneventful until I was to change planes in Frankfurt, manually transferring my luggage from the United plan I just got off to an Aeroflot flight headed for Moscow. I waited patiently at the baggage rotunda as everybody else's luggage was spotted and picked up except for mine. I went to the United baggage counter and asked where my luggage was. "I'm sorry but your luggage was not on the plane," a German girl explained. "You cannot go on, until it is found!" she added indignantly.
That would mean staying in the airport waiting room, heaven knows how long. I knew the tour guide would be waiting for me in Moscow; and to alter all my plans would take some time--contact the travel agency in New York, re-schedule with Aeroflot, that didn't have a daily flight from Frankfurt, etc. What a mess! At that time, very few Americans visited Moscow. Indeed, I may have been the only American scheduled for that flight. It was somewhat difficult for Westerners to book to Russia in those days.
With no baggage, I went to the Aeroflot ticket counter and confirmed my reservation with them--in two hours. They could sent me the luggage in Moscow, whenever it turned up, I thought. My flight was announced, and I was in line to board at the gate. The clerk behind the gate's desk announced my name, "Mr. John Oastler, we will seat you now." I thought t hat was a nice gesture, given that Aeroflot hadn't lost my baggage. A flight attendant did indeed greet me, and I was escorted to my seat. It was in the economy class to the rear of the plane. She didn't comment about the fact that I had no baggage, just a carry-on bag. I was glad they were permitting me to go on to Moscow, no questions asked.
The flight from Germany to Russia was long. About half way through the journey, a bunch of us passengers gathered by the attendants' area and got talking. Most knew English. I struck up a conversation with a woman who told me she was a governmental administrator in the Eastern provinces. She explained she had bought a number of electronic gadgets in Europe, because they were unavailable in Russia. I mentioned that this was my first trip to Russia. "Are you scared?" she queried mysteriously.
Now I thought that was a bit uncalled for. Nevertheless, I said, "No, I don't think so...No, I'm not." Thereupon she mentioned there's a detention center for unwanted foreigners to be shipped away just near the Moscow airport. "Interesting," was my only reply. Just because I was probably the only American on board didn't mean I would be personal non grata on entering!
I thought the tour guide would be waiting for me at the Moscow terminal, holding up a sign "John Oastler." Nobody waiting for me. So I caught a taxi into the city, the German sector of town, where I would be staying. The desk clerk handed me my room key, took my passport for keeping temporarily, and stated that I'd get it back upon leaving. I took the elevator to the third floor and proceeded to look for my room number. It wasn't where I thought it should be, given the signs in the hallways. Entering my room, the door open before I got there, I discovered two workmen were drilling holes around the in-wall radio close to my single bed. I thought that strange--could the hotel be tampering so to send gaseous fumes through the radio's speaker, if they thought I was a spy? I was becoming fearful.
The room was small but adequate. Later that evening in the hotel bar, I was asked by a customer who also knew English how much I was paying for the room. I told him; and he replied that for Russians it was a third cheaper! Hmmm, some Russian hospitality to an unsuspecting American!
My tour guide showed up the following morning and took me around. I had asked her to take me where I could buy a pair of shoes--an errand I had planned to do in order to interact with Russians in the stores. As we went about, I noticed how Russians dressed in clothes to last virtually forever! In a shoe store, I tried on several pairs of shoes, after each time, my interpreter would explain to passer-by Russians what I thought of the quality: "He likes it. He says their very practical and will last long!" Finally, she shouted out for everyone hear when I was prepared to make a purchase, "He's bought them! He's putting them on to wear now!"
That same day, as my tour guide and I became more acquainted, she mentioned in a taxi that some Russian government officials wanted to speak with me. Without asking for my consent, she directed the driver to an apparent government office building in downtown Moscow, not far from the American Embassy, which she dutifully pointed out as we drove by. Alighting from the taxi, I hastily scanned the side of the building I could see, looking for bars on the windows. No bars! We went up to the fifth floor. I had become nervous and fearful all over again.
I was shown into an office with two men behind a singular desk. they turned out to be cordial and friendly, asking what I had done in Moscow so far. Thereupon, after noting I had made useful suggestions to the Brazilian government recently in my trips to Sao Paolo, Brazil, they wondered would I be wiling to help them design a pending new constitution for what would become the Russian Federation of Independent States (the name now chosen at the time). They said they represented President Mikhail Gorbachev. I responded that I was very familiar with the American Constitution and knew their constitution currently in effect. I'd do what I could to help them.
At that moment my fears were all allayed! Over the next few days, I met with them and others in detailed discussions about Russian commerce and industry and its culture. Recorded in 8 hours of tape (I understand), nearly all my suggestions became adopted structurally.
Oh, 5 days into the trip, I received my luggage delivered to my hotel room by Aeroflot. The clothes inside were drenched but nonetheless usable for the remaining trip. Was their water-logged condition a sign that some Russian didn't like my presence in Moscow? I was too partied out to care!
Sunday, September 28, 2014
My first and last vision!
They say that visions occur in the young--if you pay attention to them. I had only one vision when I was ten years old. My mom and dad had just divorced. At the time we were living in a house on Elmwood near the downtown in Buffalo, New York. There was, in addition to my parents, Ailene, who was about to marry a local guy, Sheila, age 16, who even at that age was sharing the raising of me, John, once my father was out of the picture.
With the money my mom received from the divorce settlement, she decided to move out of town. She had been taking a degree at Buffalo State University; and she intended to pursue a law degree. She wanted to get out of Buffalo, because I suffered from the cold and she was accepted at NYU's law graduate program, so to complete her legal education. Additionally, the stigma amongst her friends was aggravating to us all. At school, the teachers treated me something like a homeless kid; hugging me and showing an unusual degree of compassion. There was one teacher, my second grade teacher, Ms. Keller, who would call me down to her office for consoling.
So, it was decided by my mother and sister Sheila to journey to New York to find an apartment. While we all stayed in the same house, my dad, until it was sold, occupied the lower floor and the three of us took the top floor of the large two-story house. He became known to us as "the man downstairs." The house sold quickly, perhaps to one of my mom and dad's friends, named Cleveland, who then could have sold it later.
Being a significant move in the lives of mom, Sheila and me, we planned a lot. Then, I got my vision. I told my mom and sis about it as we stood in a bedroom that had become our kitchen! I reported that I could see an apartment building--in fact--I said I was standing at the front window, looking out. There were trees across the street, a high school about a block to the left, and on the right a park. The peculiar feature I mentioned was the apartment had a private entrance (I later learned it was a superintendent's apartment). I said these things to assure them they would find something nice! I was getting excited to live there.
Armed with my vision in the back of their minds, they went to New York City for about a week to reconnoiter the place and locate an apartment. They returned with good news. They liked the city a lot. Then Sheila blurted out, "We found your place and leased it! Just where you said it would be!"
When I viewed the place I confirmed that it was indeed very much like what I had envisioned it to be.
How do you explain this vision (as I remember it) that occurred some 60 years ago?
I think it explicable as an anticipatory experience that could take place as it did to my mother and sister, which, having that experience, could serve as a guiding force. They laid claim to that experience and sought it out. That is, once they saw tangibly what I described, they laid claim to the apartment.
We lived in that apartment for some 10 years or so. Incidentally, mom learned from our neighbors that the renting agency was overcharging. Our place was under New York City rent control. Evidently, the property management thought we were country bumpkins.
.
With the money my mom received from the divorce settlement, she decided to move out of town. She had been taking a degree at Buffalo State University; and she intended to pursue a law degree. She wanted to get out of Buffalo, because I suffered from the cold and she was accepted at NYU's law graduate program, so to complete her legal education. Additionally, the stigma amongst her friends was aggravating to us all. At school, the teachers treated me something like a homeless kid; hugging me and showing an unusual degree of compassion. There was one teacher, my second grade teacher, Ms. Keller, who would call me down to her office for consoling.
So, it was decided by my mother and sister Sheila to journey to New York to find an apartment. While we all stayed in the same house, my dad, until it was sold, occupied the lower floor and the three of us took the top floor of the large two-story house. He became known to us as "the man downstairs." The house sold quickly, perhaps to one of my mom and dad's friends, named Cleveland, who then could have sold it later.
Being a significant move in the lives of mom, Sheila and me, we planned a lot. Then, I got my vision. I told my mom and sis about it as we stood in a bedroom that had become our kitchen! I reported that I could see an apartment building--in fact--I said I was standing at the front window, looking out. There were trees across the street, a high school about a block to the left, and on the right a park. The peculiar feature I mentioned was the apartment had a private entrance (I later learned it was a superintendent's apartment). I said these things to assure them they would find something nice! I was getting excited to live there.
Armed with my vision in the back of their minds, they went to New York City for about a week to reconnoiter the place and locate an apartment. They returned with good news. They liked the city a lot. Then Sheila blurted out, "We found your place and leased it! Just where you said it would be!"
When I viewed the place I confirmed that it was indeed very much like what I had envisioned it to be.
How do you explain this vision (as I remember it) that occurred some 60 years ago?
I think it explicable as an anticipatory experience that could take place as it did to my mother and sister, which, having that experience, could serve as a guiding force. They laid claim to that experience and sought it out. That is, once they saw tangibly what I described, they laid claim to the apartment.
We lived in that apartment for some 10 years or so. Incidentally, mom learned from our neighbors that the renting agency was overcharging. Our place was under New York City rent control. Evidently, the property management thought we were country bumpkins.
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Saturday, September 20, 2014
My Memoirs: Format
I'm taking a creative writing course at the El Paso Community College in the Fall, 2014. My writing assignments in the course will dove-tail with my starting to write my memoirs.
I've noticed so far--a week of remembering--that my dates aren't going to be that accurate, nor can I count on my memory, the only resource I've essentially got, to remember in the order in which the events actually took place. I've preserved on paper what I can and though not totally accurate I claim that it's the best I can do, since my memory is my principal resource.
So, treat each episode as inspired by some personal, factual event, though the episode depicted cannot be authenticated.
I won't be writing items in chronological order, so I'll use a numbering system to retain a chronological order for the items in this series.
Aside from these provisos, here I go!
P.S. The last item in the current My Memoirs series is 'The Roadster Spinner.' If there's more interest in the series, I'd be delighted to continue it in some fashion! 12/2/14
I've noticed so far--a week of remembering--that my dates aren't going to be that accurate, nor can I count on my memory, the only resource I've essentially got, to remember in the order in which the events actually took place. I've preserved on paper what I can and though not totally accurate I claim that it's the best I can do, since my memory is my principal resource.
So, treat each episode as inspired by some personal, factual event, though the episode depicted cannot be authenticated.
I won't be writing items in chronological order, so I'll use a numbering system to retain a chronological order for the items in this series.
Aside from these provisos, here I go!
P.S. The last item in the current My Memoirs series is 'The Roadster Spinner.' If there's more interest in the series, I'd be delighted to continue it in some fashion! 12/2/14
Saturday, June 7, 2014
Applications of Social Meaning
An individual has social meaning once he becomes part of an institution or organization or simply, a recognized group with social standing. He will be remembered, henceforth, as a person with identifiable characteristics obtained by virtue of his association with that institution or organization.in a certain society. These yielders of social meaning are readily known, so that in this item, I need simply mention some prominent. The list cannot be inclusive, since any society is ever-changing.
(Membership is not enough designation; and hence the term social meaning. An individual may belong to some institution which little prominence in the greater society. He will gain little in social meaning, himself, because the organization has little to give. One must talk of societal evaluation of the worthiness of the organization before one attains the concept of social meaning.) The idea ingrained in the concept is that an individual gains the prospect to be remembered long after he has died. But this prospect can only occur, I contend, when there is an institution to which he has contributed by his work and devotion and so is worthy of social meaning, himself.
Ways to gain in social meaning
1. The family. Simply by being into the Kennedy clan, one attains social meaning. Lineage is a source of social meaning.
Yet, I am said to be a descendant of the King of Poland in the Seventeenth Century, Jon Sobieski. Nobody in this part of the world has ever heard of him; and so I have no more social meaning derived from my ancestry than a black man whose parents were slaves in the South! That is to say, I will not be remembered because I am a descendant of Jon Sobieski. It adds nothing to my social meaning quotient. And, there is no institution that perpetuates the memory of Sobieski worthy of note in America.
2. Religious affiliation or membership. It is said that during the war in Afghanistan a native could gain prominence should he convert to Christianity, thus being aligned with the American troops. Immediate cash-in value of social meaning due to religious membership.
Similarly, being a Muslim in the US, can have negative value, especially in rural America, where if you're not Christian, even Fundamentalist, you don't belong. The neighbors won't accept you; and the Christian churches rile against you.
3. Political party affiliation. Belonging to some Tea Party organization, a citizen could be shunned by one of the major parties. Nevertheless, being a member of one of major parties is unlikely to add to your social standing in the community.
4. Holding a job or becoming a professional, including doctor, lawyer, clergyman; engineer. These occupations yield social meaning in the life of a community.
However, being an artist, except in the music field, provides little social meaning and may even be evaluated negatively. The great artists are usually acclaimed through the museums and art galleries that attest to their greatness long after their death. Also, true of the great classical musicians.
5. Coming up with creative and innovative ideas that herald new technologies, sciences, etc. yields much social meaning among the professionals in their scientific fields. Of course, Rockefeller, Ford and other business geniuses have reached their pinnacle of greatness in modern society to this day; and have enormous social meaning in the annals of our society.
Lessons from these applications
The point to be gained from this cursory examination of social meaning is that we everyday people should limit our attempts to gain social meaning to institutions in our community and locale where we can be remembered by those who will live and work where we lived and worked. We become the progenitors of our way of living and our values housed in the institutions that we became apart of.
We are truly "victims" of our own time and place in this world.
(Membership is not enough designation; and hence the term social meaning. An individual may belong to some institution which little prominence in the greater society. He will gain little in social meaning, himself, because the organization has little to give. One must talk of societal evaluation of the worthiness of the organization before one attains the concept of social meaning.) The idea ingrained in the concept is that an individual gains the prospect to be remembered long after he has died. But this prospect can only occur, I contend, when there is an institution to which he has contributed by his work and devotion and so is worthy of social meaning, himself.
Ways to gain in social meaning
1. The family. Simply by being into the Kennedy clan, one attains social meaning. Lineage is a source of social meaning.
Yet, I am said to be a descendant of the King of Poland in the Seventeenth Century, Jon Sobieski. Nobody in this part of the world has ever heard of him; and so I have no more social meaning derived from my ancestry than a black man whose parents were slaves in the South! That is to say, I will not be remembered because I am a descendant of Jon Sobieski. It adds nothing to my social meaning quotient. And, there is no institution that perpetuates the memory of Sobieski worthy of note in America.
2. Religious affiliation or membership. It is said that during the war in Afghanistan a native could gain prominence should he convert to Christianity, thus being aligned with the American troops. Immediate cash-in value of social meaning due to religious membership.
Similarly, being a Muslim in the US, can have negative value, especially in rural America, where if you're not Christian, even Fundamentalist, you don't belong. The neighbors won't accept you; and the Christian churches rile against you.
3. Political party affiliation. Belonging to some Tea Party organization, a citizen could be shunned by one of the major parties. Nevertheless, being a member of one of major parties is unlikely to add to your social standing in the community.
4. Holding a job or becoming a professional, including doctor, lawyer, clergyman; engineer. These occupations yield social meaning in the life of a community.
However, being an artist, except in the music field, provides little social meaning and may even be evaluated negatively. The great artists are usually acclaimed through the museums and art galleries that attest to their greatness long after their death. Also, true of the great classical musicians.
5. Coming up with creative and innovative ideas that herald new technologies, sciences, etc. yields much social meaning among the professionals in their scientific fields. Of course, Rockefeller, Ford and other business geniuses have reached their pinnacle of greatness in modern society to this day; and have enormous social meaning in the annals of our society.
Lessons from these applications
The point to be gained from this cursory examination of social meaning is that we everyday people should limit our attempts to gain social meaning to institutions in our community and locale where we can be remembered by those who will live and work where we lived and worked. We become the progenitors of our way of living and our values housed in the institutions that we became apart of.
We are truly "victims" of our own time and place in this world.
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
Social Meaning Meta-Elements
Social meaning is an agreed upon dynamic interaction between an institution in society and the individual. While the institutions may vary, there's a commonality in the properties of the interaction.
1. The Promise. The institution (or, organization) promises to the individual benefits, including money, to perform certain activities on behalf of the institution. As such, the institution is offering meaning to the individual as providing a significant societal activity from which others can benefit.
2. The acceptance. The individual freely accepts the purpose of the institution as his directive and his self-interested enterprise to perform as best he can in situ.
3. Areas of societal advancement. Just by doing what he wants, he is advancing the goals of the institution he participates in. There is a coalescing of self-interest and organizational goals, i.e., those of selfless interest.
4. Provisions for breakdown of social meaning attribution. Should an institution fail to live up to the conditions under which the individual has contributed to its goals, he can raise objection to the paucity of benefits and rights that it has bestowed upon him. He may become disassociated with that particular institution or organization. For instance, a doctor who includes wholistic applications may go off on his own, decrying the AMA. But he risks the isolation from the mainstream medical world that would likely result.
Similarly, should an individual acting on his own imply that he has the backing of a particular institution, he becomes subject to the institution's sanctions and disbarment.
5. Utopian vision pursued. The institution promises society successful achievement of social goals. Its social meaning is dependent upon its fulfilling its objectives as understood in the cultural context. Importantly, it is through the individuals who work to achieve the objectives set forth in the institution's educative practices and advances through its structures that the worthiness of the institution becomes justified and socially supported. In sum, the social meaning of the institution and its manifold organizations is vouchsafed and attested to by individuals with their own social meaning that only includes that of the institution to which they are identified. The institution awaits an evaluation by the society which increases its institution's social meaning.
1. The Promise. The institution (or, organization) promises to the individual benefits, including money, to perform certain activities on behalf of the institution. As such, the institution is offering meaning to the individual as providing a significant societal activity from which others can benefit.
2. The acceptance. The individual freely accepts the purpose of the institution as his directive and his self-interested enterprise to perform as best he can in situ.
3. Areas of societal advancement. Just by doing what he wants, he is advancing the goals of the institution he participates in. There is a coalescing of self-interest and organizational goals, i.e., those of selfless interest.
4. Provisions for breakdown of social meaning attribution. Should an institution fail to live up to the conditions under which the individual has contributed to its goals, he can raise objection to the paucity of benefits and rights that it has bestowed upon him. He may become disassociated with that particular institution or organization. For instance, a doctor who includes wholistic applications may go off on his own, decrying the AMA. But he risks the isolation from the mainstream medical world that would likely result.
Similarly, should an individual acting on his own imply that he has the backing of a particular institution, he becomes subject to the institution's sanctions and disbarment.
5. Utopian vision pursued. The institution promises society successful achievement of social goals. Its social meaning is dependent upon its fulfilling its objectives as understood in the cultural context. Importantly, it is through the individuals who work to achieve the objectives set forth in the institution's educative practices and advances through its structures that the worthiness of the institution becomes justified and socially supported. In sum, the social meaning of the institution and its manifold organizations is vouchsafed and attested to by individuals with their own social meaning that only includes that of the institution to which they are identified. The institution awaits an evaluation by the society which increases its institution's social meaning.
Monday, June 2, 2014
Social Meaning Format
We humans don't live long. But we'd like to live longer and longer. Is it possible to do this?
Society has found a way--by becoming members of institutions and by becoming members of organizations so that we pass the baton on to the next generation. We take on meaning into the future because we have joined social institutions and organizations that continue to exist long after us. We have indorsed these social systems while living so as to continue to be remembered as one of their members. Indeed, there may be a book, e.g., a yearbook, that indicates the meaning we gave to some school or university; or a book of illustrious workers in a factory that contains our picture!. We were meaningful to those with whom we worked or went to school with while alive. The institution is glad for us and for what we did then to help it succeed. We mean something in the life of the organization and it has meant something to us.
I am using "institution" to include an educative component and a professional standards' repository element. An organization does not usually include these, but organizations are where we individuals practice our crafts and exercise our training; and from whom, incidentally, we get paid!
There is a general formula which expresses social meaning: a has meaning to b whenever there is an institution x to which both a and b come into transactional relationship.
According to this analysis, a VIP, a very important person, is one who has membership in many organizations, many of whom recognize his contribution, and thus will recognize him into the future life of the particular organization. .Thus, he has accumulated a significant degree of social meaning, beyond the norm.
Society has found a way--by becoming members of institutions and by becoming members of organizations so that we pass the baton on to the next generation. We take on meaning into the future because we have joined social institutions and organizations that continue to exist long after us. We have indorsed these social systems while living so as to continue to be remembered as one of their members. Indeed, there may be a book, e.g., a yearbook, that indicates the meaning we gave to some school or university; or a book of illustrious workers in a factory that contains our picture!. We were meaningful to those with whom we worked or went to school with while alive. The institution is glad for us and for what we did then to help it succeed. We mean something in the life of the organization and it has meant something to us.
I am using "institution" to include an educative component and a professional standards' repository element. An organization does not usually include these, but organizations are where we individuals practice our crafts and exercise our training; and from whom, incidentally, we get paid!
There is a general formula which expresses social meaning: a has meaning to b whenever there is an institution x to which both a and b come into transactional relationship.
According to this analysis, a VIP, a very important person, is one who has membership in many organizations, many of whom recognize his contribution, and thus will recognize him into the future life of the particular organization. .Thus, he has accumulated a significant degree of social meaning, beyond the norm.
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