Higher calling

As days off go, it wasn't my best: I only got to watch part of "Supernatural", I stepped in a mound of fire ants, I had to take out the trash, Walmart was horribly crowded and miserable, Metrolift left us at Walmart for over 3 hours, and my medication had me feeling crappy all day. 

It's pretty bad when a big scary dude walks up and asks, concerned, "Are you OK lady?  Do you need help?"  I told him I was just "Very tired" which wasn't wrong either. 

However, a couple of regular drivers got to vent at me.  Not everyone is a "good ear" and I try to cultivate that. 

I also found a frightened little boy in the parking lot at Walmart and took him to customer service.  We jumped the line and went straight to the representative.  "He's looking for his mom" I said warmly and she took right over "Come back behind the counter" and I left. 

God probably allowed the transportation problem so I could help him.  I check the sex offender database on a regular basis, a terrifying prospect for any parent.  We even have an offender in our subdivision.  I don't worry because he's not into adult women. 

"I need to remember" I told Ron tiredly "I need to come in very early if I shop on payday, the first of the month, or anywhere near a holiday." 

It was awful, and horrendously crowded. 

I walked in and saw a woman in the muslim getup, checking out at the WIC shopping area, with a basket full of food.  I had some complicated thoughts on the subject. 

Clearly, "we" want the citizen children to be healthy and strong, so they can work and pay taxes.  "We" would also assume people would assimilate as they move to America.  "We" would also assume they had a marketable skill set and could pay their own way.  I know God does not want me to begrudge a small child, of any religion, a glass of milk with his dinner. 

I leave it all up to God.  I have found myself lately, defending muslims and "illegals" (not saying the muslim lady was illegal, I'm talking about "spanish" folk of dubious immigration status).  God wants us to love them, I say.  He wants us to minister to them, to pray for them.  He doesn't want us villifying them on the internet. 

It's not a popular viewpoint. 

The Samaritans, of Jesus' day, were the most despised of all races.  Yet, in the Bible, we find Jesus healing their children, speaking to their untouchables (a woman living in sin), holding one up as a role model ("The Good Samaritan"), and ministering to them.  He never once condemns them.  He simply tells one woman he is sent to the Jews, then heals her child when she continues to beg. 

So, if I want to be like Jesus, I need to be like Him. 

I did find my patience tested a bit. 

I'll let out a dirty secret of mine.  I have a little bitterness, and frustration, towards those with intellectual challenges.  My abilities are so mixed no one believes I'm severely limited in some aspects.  I've never gotten the sympathy and compassion "they" did. 

Some of my damage is just as bad, but if I try to share I'm constantly told "There's nothing wrong with you"!  I hate that so much. 

You can imagine my thoughts as I found various intellectually challenged people, and a guy with autism, roaming the Walmart.  One kept rearranging the cat treats and I needed cat treats.  I asked her to move, she didn't.  She kept pulling out treats, staring at them, rearranging the boxes, and putting them back on the wrong shelves, as two caregivers ignored her.  I would have thought the "providers" (paratransit slang) would have told her to move, but everything I've seen points to group homes being a terrible thing. 

They'll probably go home and fill out some government paperwork, talking about the "social rehabilitation exercise".  Ha. 

One driver tried to tell me we had a group home in our neighborhood, but I told her we don't.  Deed restrictions.  She must live with family. 

I figured I had treats enough; I'd gotten Ron's and he uses a lot. 

I got soda, but I forgot the soda for work, while waiting I went back and got it.  For whatever reason Walmart doesn't seem to have a good contract with Pepsi.  I couldn't find any 12-packs of standard Diet Pepsi.  I went with bottles. 

I didn't get much food. 

The whole time I shopped, I felt dreadful.  When I'm at the right lithium levels I just feel stupid/weak/sick/tired/dizzy.  Constantly.  I was walking at home earlier and felt like the floor was tilting.  It's a good thing I do push Ron so much, in the chair.  It's a good "walker". 

Waiting around for hours because someone "didn't find us" didn't help; but I did help the little boy.  Children are so vulnerable; I'm glad I could help protect him. 

I've been a little manic but not horribly, not at these doses. 

Every round I have a new mania - an interest.  A desire for lots of the object of my affection, whatever it is at the moment. 

I've run through everything: disaster prep, soapmaking, making my own yarn, learning to knit (hence the blog title), cats, gardening in all forms, art, etc. 

This round: puzzle books. 

I think that might be something useful.  Ron and I can work on puzzles, waiting on Metrolift.  We used to do crossword puzzles.  I tried them again after Ron's accident, but too soon.  His vocabulary hadn't come back and he felt terrible. 

Ron's been amenable to the idea.  I got a "variety puzzles" and discovered I am now too medicated to work them.  I got some regular crosswords for "us", and word search puzzles for me (I tried a word search earlier and did pretty well). 

If Ron and I like the crosswords I plan to buy a pack.  One of these.  It should keep me/us plenty busy for a while.  They also have word search variety packs. 

The trick will be buying ONE variety pack, at most one word search pack, and one crossword. 

Then I'll be set for years. 

I do have mechanical pencils, which I think are necessary.  I'm partial to the BIC mechanical pencil - I used one to take my GED tests.

I don't think I've talked about that. 

I was in a special education program for "The Severely Emotionally Disturbed".  I didn't realize at the time, but they had a VERY bad tendency to take senior students and hold them back another year, because "They weren't emotionally ready to graduate".   They would "milk" the students for extra funding and equipment and the kids, now legal adults, would sign anything. 

That did backfire when one "held back" student began an affair with a married man and became pregnant.  The funders didn't like that. 

They got extra points and funding for "helping us reach milestones".   They withdrew me from some of my favorite classes and enrolled me, against my will, into a work-study program, where I met Ron. 

I was the only work-study student actually hired by the restaurant.  Not only did they get points for "employing" me, they got points for having a "star student".  Oh, they went around crowing for weeks when they saw me in my uniform. 

I was horrified when they signed me up for the "short bus" - the bus only ridden by those with severe mental deficiencies, or physical problems.   If I were normal looking, getting off the bus, they'd think I was stupid.  So went my 17 year old thinking. 

I understood my employers knew I was special, and did my best not to act it. 

I told them I would quit if they forced me to ride that bus.  They freaked out.  I began walking 3 miles each way to work. 

Ron told me I could take the bus to work.  I looked into it and it would drop me right at the door.  Feasible, workable.  Let's do it. 

You can imagine my thoughts when they decided they would teach me to ride the bus.  Ron was horrified.  "What?  You get on.  You say hello to the driver.  You put your money in the box or show your pass.  You sit down.  When you get up on the stop, you ring the bell, say thanks to the driver, and get off." 

I did it the next day, while the teachers worked out their "logistics". 

"How was your walk to work, Heather?  It was pretty hot yesterday!" 

"Oh,"  I replied deadpan "I took the bus.   Ron told me how to do it."  They were furious and began plotting against Ron.  They exposed our relationship and got Ron fired. 

Of course that didn't stop us, now, did it?  [grin]  If anything, both Ron and I are very stubborn.  Tell us we're forbidden to see each other and we will find a way. 

About then, they sadly told me they would have to hold me back because I "wasn't ready".  In fact, the only kid they "let" graduate on time had severe rage issues. 

I became suicially depressed.  Ron was my liferaft.  He had been held back himself, with back problems.  He understood.  He cared.  He didn't judge. 

My Dad actually allowed me to talk to Ron, because everyone could see he was helping.  After I got over the worst of it, Ron was back on the shit list and don't-come-near-my-daughter. 

That didn't last of course. 

Anyway, back at school - my teachers had withheld one unit from me, the health unit.  They suspected Ron and I were still involved but couldn't prove it.  I wasn't saying anything.  Ron and I were already making plans to move in together. 

His apartment was a badly converted studio garage apartment, perhaps 250 square feet.  It still had a garage door but it looked like paradise. 

It had a fridge, but no stove.  Ron had a small space heater he ran in the winter. 

So, my teachers kept giving me sections on sexually transmitted disease and pregnancy prevention (I had told everyone Ron was fixed, so not sure about the pregnancy stuff).  I found it amusing, and finished all the coursework required to graduate within a few weeks. 

My birthday is in late September.  I would be a legal adult.  My therapist had told me she would not allow me to be declared incompotent.  I had an open door. 

Ron strongly encouraged me to play the game.  I asked if I could graduate.  No, they told me.   I wasn't ready. 

A couple days later they presented papers.  I had to sign off for them to get a brand new thousand's worth computer system "Because of her very poor vision". 

They wanted to use my so called "vision problem" - easily corrected with basic glasses, to milk the system of a fancy computer. 

I wryly signed the papers and told Ron. 

I knew they would not get the computer if I left. 

So I did. 

I still worked my job for 2 months, and twice they came down while I was working.  The first time I said "I'm fine, I'm happy, yes, I'm done with school thank you very much." 

The second time, the head of the program came, her mouth in a bitter twist.  "Heather!" she yelled as I walked in. 

I walked right past her.  "I'm not talking to you.  You don't have any power over me."  She kept yelling after he and tried to go behind the line. 

My boss intervened and asked if she'd like to buy some food.  No, she yelled.  "Then I must kindly ask you to leave" he said in his lovely accent.  "And do not come back to be bothering my employee!" 

I got another job, and did not leave a forwarding address. 

Years went by.  I was reasonably happy working entry level jobs at Target, but Ron wanted me to soar.  He kept suggesting I get my GED. 

I finally got it in 1995.  I was working nights at the time, building merchandise displays.  I'd get up, go to the high school, take my tests (some of the best results in the county, they told Ron when he called), and go to work.  Pretty soon I had a fancy piece of paper. 

I copied it, bought a frame, and gave it to Dad.  Dad recently confided he'd hoped I'd "become an engineer or something" so you can imagine how he felt about a high school dropout.  He was always very loving, but disappointed. 

"An evangelist" he recently stated "Is a much higher calling."