A long and winding road

 CORRECTED COPY

I learned about a new film-flam game this week, one that makes me particularly angry.  It involves a smoke-and-mirrors production involving Joliet (IL) Junior College.

When I, as the parent of a prospective student, look up the college's web site, I am bombarded not with what my child can gain academically, but rather a full half page urging me to house my child in the Centennial Commons Apartments.  Since my first-year student is not going to commute, this is a convenient and viable option for me.

We look at the model for the 2 bedroom furnished unit, and I am told of the gated, safe community, the ever-vigilant maintenance staff, and I meet some folks representing Centennial Commons, 

presented as a separate entity.  They will provide roommate matching; once my child's credit and mine are approved and some other vetting is done, moving is a snap.

My child attempted to use the shower on the first day there, and ended up standing in ankle-deep scum water.  Proper procedures were followed for a maintenance request; after the term of my child's lease had expired, the tub still did not drain.

Security gates were never fixed to provide the safety I had contracted to receive.  Laundry facilities were laughable:  machines were open yet when a load of clothing was deposited and money inserted into the slots, nothing ever happened.  A trip to the on-site office always netted a giggle and an "I forgot, it's broken."  Refund requests were met with the ploy of never-present authorized personnel to help.

But the bingo-caller hit the jackpot at move-out time.  A walk-through was done in my presence and I photographed everything as I had on move-in.  A copy of the move-out sheet was requested, but just like the move-in sheet I am told it no longer exists.

That became crucial in August, after my child's May move-out date:  my child and I have both been turned over to a collection agency for supposed damages of which we were never notified.  Calling the Centennial Commons business office resulted in non-returned calls.  Email was employed for communication but the result of that became my-word-and-photos against yours.  I was eventually told to just call the collections agent.

In the meantime, I explore the background of Centennial Commons.  They either are not registered with the Illinois Secretary of State as a corporation or under a different entity from the name on what I was given as a "legal document."  There is a Centennial Commons Condo Association, Inc., with agents and officers listed in cities near to Joliet. 

Following leads on their documents, I find that whatever name by which they are incorporated includes Joliet Junior College as a partner.  By this point they're coming up as Foundation Housing LLC, at the same address as Centennial Commons.  Notations on the so-called contract lead me to United Campus Housing of Austin, Texas, and United Campus Housing Management in Jacksonville, Florida. Both show as subsidiaries of a property-management group out of Austin,Texas.  Continued research find another, larger corporation - at the same address, no less - who seems to be Big Daddy.  Other leads can be traced to West Virginia.

I am small and they seem to be boundless.  The so-called lease is rife with things like page 3 with no page 1 or 2.  Pages are not titled in the same verbiage in which they are referred to within the document.  Paragraphs begin in mid-sentence and go nowhere logical.

Can I fight the $150+ they unjustly want from me?  After trailing these different corporations from state-to-state, I conclude I cannot without possible harassment for my child by the school.  Looking at all of this, I am reminded of, "What did the president know and when did he know it?" from Watergate days.

In my child's apartment, each roommate paid $600/month to live there.  So somebody got $1200/month for said rooms, and now unjustly want to tap everyone for security deposit charges plus court costs.  Now there's good old double dipping, and for what?  Their total breach of contract.

Keep your child out of there!!!!

Where has our national memory gone?

It's getting to be that date again.  You know, the one we now like to pretend never happened and life, hearts and landscape were changed forever - or so we thought.

No, it's been 14 years and visual scars are healed in Lower Manhattan, Arlington, Virginia, and Shanksville, Pennsylvania.  The smoldering heaps have been changed to pleasant fountains or a spacious park in the countryside.  The Pentagon soldiers on, with only a few blocks of singed Indiana limestone embedded to show the horror inflicted on that day.

But the date of September 11, 2001, lives constantly in the homes of over 3,000 individuals who lost their lives that day in a mind-shattering senseless attack on US soil.  Hear the raspy breathing of the now-wasted man in the hospital bed?  He was a first responder that day and went in to help, both before and after the World Trade Center towers collapsed.  He and too many like him have developed a mysterious syndrome that is ending their lives just for doing his duty or pitching in as a bystander that could shake off the hideousness long enough to assist.

The media chatter tonight is about supposed hit lists for this anniversary - people like New York mayor Bill DeBlasio, financial genius Malcom Forbes, computer forefather Bill Gates.  Yet after the normal 30 seconds of airtime, conversation moves on to the herd of presidential candidates, a city's cash award to the family of a man needlessly dead while in its custody, and reviews of the new Late Show which debuted last night on CBS.

Please, dear Lord, never let me forget how I felt on that day.  I never want to lose the absolutely crippling sense of mourning I felt as I viewed the news broadcasts.  May I forever keep in my heart and soul the realization that these were my brother and sister countrymen being murdered for something as mundane as showing up for work or boarding a plane.

Yes, I know this photo is hard to see.  But it's of this ordinary man who went to work on a flawless Tuesday morning only to have a hijacked plane slam into the building where his office was.  All avenues of reasonable escape were cut off by the flames and the structural damage.  One wonders:  did he seek a place where he could try and coax that mobile phone into reaching his loved ones one more time?  Was he calm and collected, or was he frenzied with fear?  What in his mind, heart and soul gave him the impetus to flee from that incredibly high window?  Lastly, was he conscious for the freefall, or did he mercifully black out before making contact with the pavement?

September 11, 2001, must, in my strong opinion, never be relegated to petty politics or conspiracy theories or even those few unbalanced souls who presented themselves as survivors when they were not.  Respect for humanity - loving thy neighbor as thyself - moves this day in history to far more than just a national day of mourning and remembrance.

These victims did not meet an act of specific genocide for their race, faith, or anything else.  They were chosen for slaughter to prove a political point by an extremist group who felt their courage in precipitating these deaths would provide them the ultimate heaven.

Don't let those whose lives were crushed by such narrow thinking be lost in the dusk of fading memory.  Don't just look at the pretty fountains, sweeping park land, scarred stone.  There was hell in those places, but we don't have the capacity as humans to continually absorb that reality.  Think of the falling man, as he has become known, and vow that horror like that will never be visited on our land or our citizens again.

Which way is up?

There's a knot in my tail and I don't like it.  It's uncomfortable.  Everybody seems to feel that they can speak their piece and we listeners should listen raptly; isn't that why I have a blog?

This week, the media were fixated on a county clerk in Kentucky who chose the tenets of her faith over the job she had contracted to do.  She chose not to provide marriage licenses for same-sex couples, in defiance of a court order or two, as it was in opposition to her beliefs as a Christian.  The media circus grew each day, and I would not have been surprised to see a Slurpee truck set up to make some extra money on the daily crowd.

But this woman held her ground - right into a contempt of court citation and jail time.  Last I heard of the story, there was another wrinkle to her keeping her position as clerk stemming from the same root.

All I can say is she must be a better disciple than I.  I have fought my battles over my own belief in Christ and bear a lot of the scars, but I never stuck it out to the point where I would be arrested.  Fired from a job in a church, no less, for asking for others to commit their tasks to Him, yes.  Run by a small but effective group out of a nationwide volunteer group where I was given the opportunity to write public policy and advance those who could not speak effectively for themselves, yes.  And let's not forget that I was taken to task by state officials in that same organization because I refused to sanitize a prayer; the thought behind that (20 years ago, no less) was not to offend others who thought some of us were "holy rollers."  I've endured family splits over faith.  Just yesterday I was informed that my Jesus was "limited and painful to those who know Christ as the champion of the poor, the weak, and the downtrodden."

So is that the motive in the Kentucky showdown?  Is it firmly standing for the Word of God and what it says; is it now a matter of having gotten oneself into something that might end in embarrassment; is it lack of common sense in knowing one was defeated by a society that ridicules Christians openly?  What would I have done?  Call me chicken, but I would have lobbied against the legislation before it became law and when it did pass, I would have resigned my position in quite a noisy protest, I say safely from the comforts of my recliner and retirement.

I do have a reputation as one who will charge hell with a bucket of water; there's a long, well-intentioned wake behind me to prove it.  Sometimes I win, sometimes (more often) I lose.  My practical, patient, loving husband gives me free rein to swear I'll change this wrong to right until he's scraping me off the wall I've slammed my head into once again.  He gently chides me that I'm stressing myself out too much, but by that time the restaurant in town will tell me for the umpteenth time how they can't possibly modify their entry to conform with the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1992, and I'm coming out of the backfield with a full head of steam once again.

Mea culpa.  I always thought that 99% of my crusades were on the behalf of the poor, the weak and the downtrodden.  Maybe God's telling me to think it over some more.  In this crazy, mixed-up world we try to survive in today, I have a growing concern that right and wrong and up and down are all twisted around and not as well-defined as they once were.  I'll tell you why that concerns me, and that's because things that were once most definitely seen as unacceptable are now the norm.  We'll leave that there, but I think we've lost our Compass.  When we're in tune with Him, He may send you east and me west, but we're both parts of the same Body doing His work.  Unfortunately I have to say I perceive more do-it-yourself and don't read the Map work going on.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart,

and lean not on your own understanding;

In all your ways acknowledge Him, 

and He shall direct your paths.  -- Proverbs 3:5-6

Touchy touchy

I had an entirely different essay well-begun, but then was prodded to change canoes altogether.  Both were somewhat based on the totally unacceptable lawlessness this country is experiencing in this day and age, whether it's the fixation on the wrongdoing of a presidential candidate as well as the rampant murders of those who have chosen to put themselves in harm's way to protect and serve.  Then today I learn of a young man who has the manager at the fast food place where he works tell a police officer that he was refusing service because of the customer's occupation.  Searching the internet to make sure the story could be verified, I found a sound bite from a local TV station and the worker (paraphrasing) says it's not worth talking about; the customer was a cop and he was of a minority group.

Let's skip the obvious increase in my blood pressure from his actions and statements and narrow this down.  The right to refuse service is something I thought dried up and blew away a long time ago.  If it's posted in some of these places who now claim it as current policy, it must be stored with the Braille menus for the sight-impaired (an announcement made in writing that I fail to grasp the relevancy).  Is this proclamation posted at the drive-thru menu bank where the officer in question placed their order so that there was prior notice?  Is there notification on the pick-up window to that effect?  Or did someone, like way too many rogue elements out there today, decide at the last minute not to provide service to this customer because of their line of work?  

Funny how the employee and the store manager backed away from the issue so quickly when it was brought to public attention.  It's just a joke; I was kidding; our company wouldn't do that.  We hear these oopsie comebacks from those who disrespect others all too often.  It's something I would expect from a toddler, not someone of adult status.

Billy Joel released a song years ago called, "We Didn't Start the Fire."  To me, the song speaks of each successive generation coming on the heels of the last, swearing these things will never happen again, but guess what?  They do.  And they seem to be getting worse.

How much of what is in Joel's lyrics is actual fact and not my projection?  History does tend to repeat itself, don't be fooled.  There's always going to be someone who inappropriately pushes a boundary and the result is hellacious.

In today's super-sensitive society, there are certain groups one does not work to offend:  ethnic and religious groups, persons of race other than your own, even just the pudgy lady sitting here typing this piece if you want to tell her how fat she is (she knows, thank you, the turnip truck dumped me off quite a while ago).

Why then, with raw nerves exposed all over the place, would someone bait a cop who knows there's a target on their back, who knows they're tired and yet have to stay on point all the time, who just stopped at the drive-thru for a bite to eat?

"Think of your fellow man, lend him a helping hand, put a little love in your heart.  You see it's getting late, oh please don't hesitate, put a little love in your heart."  Jackie delShannon sang this years ago, when we thought we had achieved equality among men as God intends.  Maybe we need to read that sheet music one more time.

Shut up and go sit in the corner, willya?

I have a vague memory of using the above phrase as the ultimate put-down at some point in my childhood.  I probably got it from television, but I also had a much-older sister from whom I was constantly fending off verbal blows, so it may have come from her.

Anyway, the point is, too many of us radiate all the warmth of those words too often in our daily dealings with others.  It's the information age, and everyone seems to compete to be just a little brighter and smarter and have more facts than the next person.  The problem comes when we begin to club a well-meaning party with all of our brain power and .zip files.

I don't think it's done intentionally most of the time.  I myself have a bad habit - self-defense mechanism from that elder sister - of swearing I'm right and you're wrong.  But I've had to learn to scale that back as much as possible; I now can be found in social situations chewing my nails as someone presents absolute hogwash as fact.  "If you don't have anything nice to say, say nothing at all," my mother drilled into me.  Thanks, Mom.  I've been a lovely doormat for years.

I think that's why I'm so sensitive when I see this phenomenon occurring over and over again.  Someone ventured a dim memory of an event from long ago during a conversation lately, and another person adamantly slammed back that the foggy memory was just wrong, wrong, wrong, and here's the documentation to back it up.  Upon hearing of this, my first response was my one son's favorite word:  seriously?  Does it matter any more?  What is gained by making another soul feel like an idiot?

Is it any wonder that so many of us, me included, have no self-esteem, no self-confidence, no desire to socialize any more where we don't feel comfortable?  My philosophy at this point in my life is kick me once, shame on you, kick me twice, shame on me.  Sometimes it's just easier (and doesn't lose you a friend) if you just take your roller skates and go home to that proverbial corner.

If you aren't going to do it, nobody else is

As a child, I heard certain things over and over again.  One of those things was the old adage "there are only two things certain in life:  death and taxes."  I never really saw my parents grow old; my dad died suddenly at the age of 52, and my mother - let's just say that she did age, but I don't recall myself as part of the equation.

But really I'm not here to talk about death or taxes.  I want to vent about the junk nobody tells you, like your body is going to catch up with that wild ride you've given it someday and is going to knock you on your backside.  Not only does nobody warn you about it, it puts your entire life both mentally and physically into a tailspin when it does happen.

I'll be 61 in 3 days.  Oh, I've had my share of "what?" moments sitting in front of the doctor, but usually I can see them coming and be prepared.  No, I'm not facing a death sentence.  I'm being told that I have some coronary problems.  Not just one, but two, to be exact.  They can be treated with medication and a steady diet of doctors, I read, but when am I going to be given the information and the tools I need to find out about this stuff?

My father once described himself as a "nosy individual."  If something caught his attention, he grabbed it and worried it like a dog with a bone until he had learned all he could about it and could speak to both sides of the problem.  Mind you, this was pre-Google.

I guess that apple didn't fall far from the tree.  Pique my curiosity and I'm off at a flat run until I learn every bit of minutiae there is to know.  If it's a medical problem, all the better.  I can reasonably-well decipher jargon used in clinical descriptions and doctor-speak.  I know "when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em" in pushing for that little extra bit of insight from a professional.  Let's just say I'm a medical professional's worst nightmare when it comes to being my own best advocate.  

Who, what, where, when, why and how zip around my brain and the at-first polite requests for answers begin to come out of my mouth.  If I think you're avoiding me with medical double-speak, I'm on you like a bird on a worm.  I carry a binder nowadays with everything I can find out about my supposed conditions and also all about the medications I am prescribed.  Did you know that www.drugs.com will look up your prescription and non-prescription drugs and give you a personalized folio of potential drug interactions?  Since my mind's a bit dull these days, it's a godsend for me.  Side note:  if you are being treated/medicated for conditions not in the current doctor's specialty, go in prepared to fight for what has already been made right in the past.  I have been under control with migraine for the best part of 20 years.  Somebody didn't get the memo that the meds I take to prevent and abort migraine don't mix well with some of the standard checklist drugs for coronary conditions.  You will not bring migraine hell back to me.  You will work around it.  Oz has spoken.

I'm not one of those who gets a skin rash and, after consulting WebMD, decides I'm on the road to The Big One.  No, I call my friends who are still in the medical field, each to their own specialty - sorry, but I do.  They often can point me in the right compass position to find what I need to find.  I thank God for these friends and am ever-grateful for their listening ears and hard-won knowledge.

I see the cardiac doctor next week for his summation of test results and hopefully a formal diagnosis and action plan.  Otherwise, I just listen to my body and follow what it's telling me to do.  I have spent too many years of this one shot deal God gives us ignoring things that I know are not right with myself.  

Clear the tracks, here comes the train that could.  This doesn't just apply to me, but to anyone out there in today's health care system.  Be an educated patient.  Know your options and be able to discuss them with your provider.  If somebody screws up, shake the world in which they live.  That's your well-being we're talking about here.  Double-check and check again on testing that was ordered, providers who are to follow up with you, you-told-me-this-last-time-why-has-it-changed?  Find out what they consider to be your responsibility.  Get parameters for those responsibilities.  You can't work with a provider when neither of you understand the other.

Don't want that early date with death (we all know too well about taxes)?  Don't be a lab rat running a maze for docs as they hem-haw around.  Be informed, be assertive, be involved.  And never hesitate to loose the Witch of the West's flying monkeys.

God's auctioneer?

Media reports are filled these days with allegations that Planned Parenthood is marketing and selling undamaged parts from partial-birth abortion procedures.

Let me try to explain both types of termination of pregnancy that are appropriate here:

     A woman chooses to terminate an unwanted pregnancy, so she turns to Planned Parenthood.  Their organization is well-known in the public and there are still some private physicians who choose not to perform abortions.

     If the fetus' gestational age is less than 15 weeks, either a chemically- or surgically-induced termination can be performed.  A chemically-induced abortion is fairly self-explanatory.

     If a chemically-induced abortion cannot be performed for whatever reason, it becomes a surgical procedure and suction aspiration or vacuum aspiration techniques are used.

Moving on with our examples:

     For whatever reason, the patient has held off too long for the standard medical or surgical type of procedure that is performed when the fetus is younger than a gestational age of 15 weeks. After 15 weeks and up to 26 weeks of pregnancy, partial birth abortions (medically termed "intact dilatation and extraction") is used to terminate the pregnancy.  Please note also that this can be used in cases of miscarriage.

     During this procedure, the largest part of the fetus must be reduced in diameter in order for it to pass through the vaginal canal and cervix.  The mother generally has to have labor induced, and at the appropriate time, a physician uses forceps and ultrasound imaging to partially remove the fetus.

     If you want further description of the remainder of intact dilatation and extraction surgery, I encourage you to look it up on your own.

      

Now come the accusations that fetal body parts from partial-birth abortions are being offered for sale for researchers.  I don't understand what the researchers are doing with this tissue, but I sincerely worry about a society who would choose to permit the sale of human parts.  No, not somebody donated their liver, etc., this to me reeks of grave robbing.

Are the families signing the release forms being made aware that their fetus may become a commodity on an after-market?  I know first-hand what an excruciating decision it can be not to carry a pregnancy to term for non-medical reasons.  I cannot fathom having to wonder if my child's body parts are now fodder for some research program without my consent, going to the highest bidder?

There's a skilled way to bring all this to a conclusion, but right now it escapes me - part of the "newest" me.  All I can think of is the mental image of our Creator God shaking His head at the cruelty and audacity of His creation.

I pray that Jesus returns soon.