Random thoughts in no particular order.
It’s beyond freezing in Washington, DC. I haven’t lived there in over a decade. I searched for fuzzy boots today. Turns out everyone else have snatched them up. I’m out of luck for warm boots. I’m going to freeze, people. There will be more bitching about this later.
Remember my visit to Social Security when they told me I was a special case? I found out how special. Turns out I’m so special that they’ve been keeping a stash of money for me hidden in their deep dark coffers. Hidden so deep that I don’t think even King George knew it was there. It was locked up tight in that lock box Al Gore was always ranting about, I’m guessing. They told me they owe me $1400! From 1998! I informed them about all the interest and penalties I would be levying against them for late payment. Jeff, my caseworker, laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes. Funny man. But he also reminded me that I am a very special case and that social security would be reinstating my disability benefits as well as my Medicare coverage. Of course, I’m such a special case I told him I didn’t want to go to all that trouble since I’m sure I’ll have a job soon. Again with the laughter holding back tears. Jeff told me I definitely needed to file the papers. So I signed my name to a whole bunch of forms and he told me my checks would start coming in about two weeks. I am not ungrateful. But I must admit I still don’t completely understand it.
I called my father tonight to ask him to pick me up at the airport in Baltimore on Thursday and to take me to the hospital. My father did not know that John is in the hospital. This is not unusual, but I could tell it made him upset that he was just now learning about it and that no one had told him. I told him I have wanted to tell him for the last week, but every time I think to call him it’s the middle of the night in Baltimore. He wanted to know why my mother hadn’t called him. I explained that she doesn’t like to call him. Those two have been divorced for over 15 years, my father is remarried, and he still expects my mother to call him every time there’s “news” in the family. John could have called him, but my father is notoriously horrible at keeping in touch with people. Even his own children. And I doubt that John even had a phone number for Albert. Albert (I have called him Albert since I was about 4…and that is his name) then wanted to know why I wasn’t staying with him. I explained that he lived in Baltimore, the hospital was in Washington and it was accessible by the Metro from my mother’s house, but from his I would have to rely on him. He then understood. Albert is anything but reliable. However, he did say he would pick me up on Thursday at the airport. I made sure he wrote everything down.
I’ve got all body parts crossed for my husband. That’s all I’ll say for now.
So today I go to the post office to mail a bunch of packages. Babies are being born and must be acknowledged. Folks need herbal treatments in far off places. Friends need to know they are loved. I did not put mailing labels on my packages because I was going to use the ones they always have at the post office for Priority Mail. I should say always HAD at the post office. I went to the post office on Morrissey today and there wasn’t a mailing label to be found in the entire building. So I put all my packages back in the car and contemplated going to Staples, but thought I’d hit the post office downtown since I had to go there anyway to get ingredients for dinner. I was very lucky because I found a parking spot right in front of the post office. That never happens. I gathered my packages and went inside. I searched all the tables and stands, but again, not a single mailing label in the entire lobby.
When I entered there was a line of folks waiting at a small door. This door is opened occasionally to assist those who are there to simply pick up large packages or mail. The person working the door does not sell stamps or weigh packages or anything of that sort. Just goes and finds your mail and brings it to you. I got in that line. And then my friend Collette walked in. I said hello and she said, what is this line you’re in? What’s this special door? I told her that it was basically for picking up mail. She looked at my packages and asked if I was going to pick up more. No, I told her, I was going to ask if they had any labels. At that moment a very grumpy man who was standing in front of me growled that I could get this door was not for that and I could get those labels at the desk. I looked at him and explained that I didn’t want just a sticker that said Priority Mail; I wanted an actual blank label so I could write the shipping address on it. He growled at me again and very sarcastically told me I would never get that from this guy. I noticed that his name was Edwin (he was holding some mail) and I said, “Excuse me, Edwin, but sometimes in this world, if you ask for something really politely and you smile, kind folks will do nice things for you.” He snarled again and said, “Oh really. Not here. You won’t get your labels.” I told him I was going to just wait and see and hope for the best. He snapped, “Suit yourself.” You all know that I not only got the labels for my boxes but I also acquired an entire stack of extras (without even asking) to take home for next time. Poor Edwin. He needs to learn how to smile.
I love my family. But a family visit under these circumstances and for this long will certain be blog fodder. Stay tuned.
