Archive for the ‘bad luck’ Category

Why Is It That…

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 My morning commute to work should be 17 minutes according to the GPS. That time is based on the average number of red lights along the way, as well as traffic slow ups in a few areas. I generously leave myself 20 minutes of drive time. Most days, my body is in my chair at work, computer turned on, by 9 am. On those more important days, such as an early meeting with a patient or a work committee, every traffic signal along the way glares “stop”. They turn red JUST as I get to them. Every one. Some of those red lights at the big intersections seem to be several minutes long, adding precious time to my commute. Why is it that on the most important days, traffic seems to be heavier, more acutely elderly are driving at a snail’s pace, and there are an abundance of red lights?

     Eating out is a wonderful experience Hubby and I get to do once a week. Saturdays are especially important because many local restaurants serve Prime Rib, a favorite of mine, especially while on a low carb diet. There’s nothing better than eating a huge, Flintstone size, piece of meat. (I apologize to all vegetarians, but I am what I am….) Hubby and I settle into a comfy booth with the seat still warm from the couple sitting before us. We leisurely chat a little bit, telling the scurrying waiter we are in no hurry, mentally savoring the meal that is about to come. Except it doesn’t. The restaurant is out of Prime Rib. OUT? How can that be? My patience is tested when I am told they had a “run” on this mouth-watering hunk of meat and none was left for me. Why is it that when I am most looking forward to a meal, the restaurant is out of it?

     The days of nice summer weather have been a delight, and I had splurged on a few summer dresses for work. Ah…the warmth of the sun on my skin, the sunlight making my eyes squint, a dress swishing around my legs and a bounce in my step. Except for that one day last week, where the temperature was in the 60s and it was rainy and glum. I wore my favorite dress that day to add something positive to the dreary atmosphere. It would have worked out fine except the dress was sleeveless and I shivered all day. Why is it that we are tricked into wearing summer clothes when the temperature is more of autumn?

     Why is it that…

…when you wear sandals, there are socks a-plenty, but when you wear regular shoes, there are no matching socks to be found?

…when you meet someone from your past and you try to introduce him/her to Hubby, you can’t remember his/her name?

…you can be happily playing the penny slot machine at a Casino for an hour, and when your $20 runs out, you leave the machine, only to observe someone else sit in your spot and win the jackpot?

…when you search and search and can’t find your glasses, they are right on top of your head?

…when you need to sign a check, the only writing implement in your purse is a Sharpie?

…when you are just getting into an interesting article, it ends….?

 

 

 

 

 

 

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I Lost All of My Money at the Casino :(

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I admit it… I LOVE to gamble; to play the slot machines at the casino.  It is one of my wicked vices. (I’ll bet you are all shocked to hear such an admission, which I have been consciously keeping from you so as not to tarnish my good image.)

It goes back to the days when I was a young adult.  My mother and my brother loved it when I took them to a casino in a nearby state.  We would take a day trip sponsored by a local bus company, and for a mere $25 fee, we would get a coupon for a free buffet and a coupon for $25 in gambling money.  As my mother was extremely frugal, this deal was enticing to her, and it allowed the three of us to have a nice day together.  My brother, who was severely developmentally delayed, legally blind, deaf, and schizophrenic, loved the long ride on the bus, to eat at the buffet where he could choose all of his favorite foods, and to enjoy all of the bright lights. But his favorite thing to do was to play a martian slot machine.  In his schizophrenic haze, he thought of himself as an alien, so he felt somewhat vindicated to see a slot machine “of his people.”  His $25 in free gambling money would last for hours as he would always bid the  minimum, 5 cents.  Every time the symbols on the machine matched, aliens would swoop down to bring them into their spaceship.  With his eyes pressed close to the machine to see, my brother joyfully whooped and hollered every time that happened.The money he won was secondary. He was in his “element”, something which he rarely felt elsewhere. Plus,my brother loved Diet Coke,and he could get all of the Diet Coke he wanted free. (We had purchased a refillable plastic cup one time, and my mother held onto it like gold…washing it and bringing it to every visit to the casino….for years my brother was thrilled to get free soda!)

My mom would always cash in her $25 gambling voucher.  She did not believe in gambling and preferred to take the money in cash, which to her meant a great day out with a free trip and buffet.  Her joy over a great bargain was greater than her playful spirit. She was certain that the machines were fixed, and that they “let you win” in the beginning, and then, when your money was gone, you would put in more and more, never winning again. Although I thought this idea was ludicrous, I have to admit that, over the years, I have seen this happen time and time again…those crafty slot machines!!!!  Regardless, I LOVED to play the slots. I would have to sneak away from my mom because when my $25 voucher ran out, (as it ALWAYS did,) I would play my own money.

And so it was yesterday, when I took a similar bus trip with the recreation group of adults with disabilities that I coordinate.  (After all, just because they have a disability doesn’t mean they should be excluded from loosing their money at the casino like the rest of us!)  It was during that trip that I lost all of my money.  As the last few cents dwindled away in the slot machine, I felt a sick feeling in my stomach.  I was so sure I was going to win!  It was FATE for me to win, because I really needed the money and therefore God could work his “magic” and allow my machine to his the jackpot, therefore getting me out of debt.  Isn’t that the way God works?  Unfortunately not…

As my money ran out, I sat there sad, disappointed, and frantic. What would you all THINK of me? How was I going to buy lunch for the rest of the week?  How could I have been so STUPID?!?!?! All my money was gone…

It is a good thing I only brought $20 with which to gamble…

******

CoverEnTemp-1

The Apple Tree: Raising 5 Kids With Disabilities and Remaining Sane
Authored by Linda Petersen
The link to the book:
https://www.createspace.com/5321986?ref=1147694&utm_id=6026

Aside

I Thought That Only Happened in Cartoons…

When Angel recently graduated from high school, (Thank GOD for that huge accomplishment,) I lent him my mini-van for a car.  When Dinora graduated from high school, we paid 1/2 the price of a car for her so she could use it to go to work and college.  By the time we got to our 4th high school graduate, lending him my car was the best I could do! He has been thrilled with the mini-van, unfazed by the stares from classmates. He can drive and he has a car and that is all that matters!

Fortunately for me, who gave up my mini-van, I was able to obtain a huge 12 passenger wheelchair life van for free.  (long story.) It is so tall that I need a step stool to climb up into it.  And I am not very ladylike in doing so!  But once I get in and start driving, it seems like a regular car to me, as long as I just look forward.  I also just drive it forward, of course, because backing up this monstrosity of a van is a little beyond my capabilities.

This van is a 2002. Huge. Older model with some mechanical difficulties. Last week, it would not start.  It appeared that all of the oil had drained out of the engine. I couldn’t budge it.  A frequent user of AAA, I called for a tow to our family mechanic.  I told them my van needed a tow.  They asked me what kind of van.  “White”, I answered.  “Dodge”.  They asked me what model Dodge, and I told them a van.  (How was I to know that there are many styles of vans? I’m just a little old mother…) “1500?” they asked.  “Sure!” I answered.   I waited the requisite half hour, and along came a cute little tow truck with a lovely driver.  He took one look at the van, which towered over his tow truck, and started to laugh.  “They didn’t tell me it was a 3500 model” he said.  I took the blame for that, pleading ignorance about vans.  He did not look too hopeful that his little tow truck would be able to tow it, but because he did not want me to have to wait any longer, he offered to try.  He was very nice.  He backed up the tow truck and hooked up the van.  As he started to try to lift it, the van did not budge!  Instead, the tow truck moved, and the front of the truck was soon lifted high in the air! It was hilarious!  As the driver slowly lowered his truck, he apologized that he “did not think” he would be able to tow it.  And we both burst into laughter.

I had to wait several more hours for a flatbed tow truck to come to bring the van to the mechanics.  I didn’t  mind the wait.  I giggled the whole time!

Another Prom Mis-Disaster

I wrote a while ago about the damage I did to my daughter, Dinora’s, prom dress eight or nine years ago.  I miscalculated my ability to hem such a delicate item (ON the day of the prom when she told me it was too long to go with her shoes…after weeks of my asking….) The hem was crooked and the dress was gathered in places it should be gathered! I was saved from the humiliation of being a terrible mother by a local taylor who miraculously fixed my mistake, leaving her prom dress in pristine condition.

Well, my youngest daughter, Marie, who is deaf,  is going to a prom next month.  This is the daughter who has always preferred to wear male clothing, even men’s bathing suits!  Her theory is, if she dresses like a boy, no one will think she is a girl, so no men will “bother” her…  She, of course, does not realize that at sixteen years old, she has developed in such a way that men’s clothing can no longer disguise the fact that she is a girl.

Marie had a talk with her counselor, and she actually decided she wants to wear a prom dress, which would be the first DRESS she ever wore.  She was mortified at the thought of a short dress, but warmed to the idea of a full length gown.  So, last weekend I took her shopping for a prom dress, every mother’s dream activity to do with her growing daughter. Again, my dream activity quickly turned to a nightmare, but then I was again saved from disaster.

The day started out fine as we went to the mall.  Marie led the way to a major store she knows I have a credit card to.  (Thus my laments that I “have no money” would be moot to her.)  The gowns were dazzling bright with sequins and frills, but not enough fabric to cover Marie’s “growing” body.  She ran from rack to rack, picking out modest gowns to try on.  Looking at the size 11s, I knew she was not going to fit into them.  In the dressing room, she kept asking me to help her zip them up.  I tried to explain to her they were too small, but she accused me of not helping her enough!  We had an argument in the dressing room and she flew out in anger.  We walked the length of the mall with her seething inwardly, when she spotted JC Penney, another store to which I have a credit card.  We found the prom gown section, and BLESS this store…they had gowns all the way up to size 19/20.  Marie, in her glory amongst the choices, found what she thought to be the perfect gown and they had it in her size.  It was white with rhinestones and layers of ruffles and her eyes glowed happily as she tried it on.  She looked like a bride and my eyes filled up with tears. I thought of the despair we felt as she left the previous store without a dress, and the joy we both felt as she found a dress to fit her.  I say thank you to those stores who have clothes of all sizes for teenagers, especially JC Penney’s, which enabled one sixteen year old girl who is deaf to move one step closer to her date at the prom.

She Took Off with the Man in the Red Truck

A neighbor ran to my door the other day and screamed “Marie just got in a red pick-up truck with a man and he sped away.”  Bad information for any parent to hear.  I immediately called 911, and by the time the police were at my door minutes later, Marie, who is profoundly deaf and very precocious, came strolling down the street to our house.  Of course I was overwhelmingly relieved to see her, but also slight embarrassed by the 5 police cars at our doorstep.

“Where WERE you?” I asked.

“I went with man to find dog” she answered in American Sign Language.   We all gasped at the “reason” she got into the red truck, a reason notoriously used by men who kidnap children.  She said she jumped out of the truck and came home, giving a description of the truck and the man. Then she nonchalantly mentioned that she knew him and where he lived.  Walking, she led the police cars two streets over and pointed to a house. Completely disinterested in their investigation, and stubbornly unwilling to discuss it any further because her favorite television show was on, she walked home.

Knowing Marie and her friendliness and impulsivity, I thought she had willingly jumped in his truck, thinking of him as a friend with no harm intended.  After all, he simply drove around the block and parked at his house.

He turned out to have a record for drugs, but no history of child abuse or violence.  Even if he “let her go”, the police argued,  he would still be guilty of “child enticement,”  so they dutifully put him in handcuffs and brought him down to the police station.  Something about the situation just did not sit right with me, so I sat Marie down and delved further into her story.

According to her, the neighbor’s dog got loose from its leash and she was chasing it trying to catch it but it ran up the street.  When the man in the red truck drove by, Marie, recognizing him as a neighbor, frantically flagged down his truck and asked him to stop. Without him making any comments or motions, she jumped into the front seat and pointed at the loose dog.  Understanding what she wanted, he sped down the street in pursuit of the animal, which eventually turned around and ran home.  He had driven around the block to his home, at which point she jumped out of his truck to come home.  She was completely confused as to why the police were there.  Using this as an opportunity to reinforce to her the dangers of getting into someone’s car, the lesson did not register with her.  She KNEW him, she insisted, and he was just helping her.

Knowing that this man, who only responded to his young neighbor flagging him down and jumping into his car, was being held in handcuffs at the police station, I immediately called the station to give the explanation.  It was the same explanation the man was giving the police, but which they somehow did not believe.  With my corroboration, they let him go. Gracefully, there were no hard feelings from him as he completely understood why they thought he committed a crime.  He did learn a lesson, though, as he reportedly keeps his doors locked now when he passes our house. 

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