Friday, August 31, 2012
The Story Behind the Sale
It may seem cavalier, requesting help from my friends via Facebook about the financial problems we’re having now. In truth, I am really really scared. Scared that the sale won’t be enough, scared that I won’t be able to make the tax payments, scared that I will let down my family. See, this is not the first time we’ve been here. After our son died in 1990 and Jen was born in 1992, I gave up a very good paying job to stay home with the kids and we let our house go. Our kids were more important than the house, but we paid for that decision very dearly over the years. We worked very very hard to get the money to buy this house. Yeah, we could let it go or sell it now, but the truth is, there’s no place we could rent that wouldn’t be roughly the same price monthly as our mortgage.
This old house is nothing fancy, just a big old long 1950's style ranch house built in 1956, but we love it. After I’d lived here a month, I literally could not imagine living anywhere else. This is HOME.
In June of 2007, after a series of catastrophic events, including a wreck that kept Max off work and on half-pay for 2 months, we filed for bankruptcy. During our bankruptcy, which ended a year ago, our property taxes got way behind. We paid off every single dime we owed through that bankruptcy, with the exception of a few medical bills that the court dismissed, but there was not a single penny left over after each pay day. Dissolution in bankruptcy was not an option, so for four years, we lived with them taking $1200 a month right off the top of our income. We lived hand-to-mouth for four long years; the least little mishap was financial disaster for us.
We paid off the bankruptcy a year early, still a point of pride with us. But by the end, my van was in such poor condition, it was literally shedding parts as I went down the road and left puddles of transmission fluid every time I parked. Our Taurus had 100K+ miles on it; it was fine for me to use around town, but Max had to drive to Houston in it and so he got his new truck. We were fine paying that note. I had a full-time job and we were making it and had even gotten to a point where we could put a little money back for a rainy day. In fact, I recently had to order a credit report for a job, and you cannot imagine how satisfying it was to see OK every month we paid the truck note on time. We made a down payment toward the property taxes and the county set us up with a payment plan. We paid the down payment and one monthly payment; then at the end of December, I lost my job.
It wasn’t much of a job. It didn’t pay a whole lot and it wasn’t a real easy place to work, but it was a job, and I contributed to the household every week. There wasn’t a lot to put back to savings, but there was some, for the first time in four long years. All of that is gone now. I wrote checks for the property tax payments every month, but I didn’t send them in because I knew those checks were going to bounce sky high. I walked through every day with this hanging over my head. Even at the height of a good time, like during our bi-annual art shows which I love, the thought would be in the back of my head, “I need to go take care of that. Maybe if I just take them $20 a month, they will accept that until we can make the full payments.”
But a kind of apathy takes you over when you enter a situation like this. If you, personally, have ever been in a disastrous financial place in your life, I know you understand. If you haven’t, God bless you. I wish I’d had the kind of life where there were no crises or drama or hospital stays or old worn out cars, but that was not the path God chose for me.
So, yes, I made a stupid mistake, and yes, it’s embarrassing and humiliating to admit that to everybody I know and their friends, but I did. I admit it. And now I’m trying to make good for my family, and I’m just blown away by how my friends have come out of the woodwork to help, in ways I never imagined I even needed help. It’s not just about the money here; I just don’t want to let anybody down. So, yeah, I’m scared of all of it...as well as incredibly grateful for the support I’ve been given by my friends. Because without that, my family will be homeless.
So, please pray for us, for resolution, for a successful fundraiser, and for my family to get a break. I’m an impossibly optimistic person, and I know it’s all going to work out in the end. But now, today? I’m freaking terrified.
love to all those who love me,
allison
Friday, August 17, 2012
"Have A Great Night!" A peon's story....
08/16/12
First of all, right off the bat, this is a long blog. But if you care about Jessica Plants or Allison Maxwell, please read it all the way to the end and share it with EVERYONE YOU KNOW. I promise it is worth it. It’s time for things to change. Us “peons” have a voice and need to use it.
Our story begins.....
I lost my job at the end of 2011, and since that time, I’ve been doing some PRN (as needed) work for a company here in town. For this story, you don’t really need to know what I do; all you need know is that we travel from Lufkin to Houston and our company rents us a car to go down there, and they rent from:
ENTERPRISE RENT-A-CAR
Normally, we just make a day trip down there, leaving Lufkin about 6:00 a.m. and returning when we’re done. Depending upon the volume of work, we usually get home between 6:00 and 7:00 p.m.
Three trips ago, I made a trip alone because there wasn’t enough work for two people. Enterprise gave me some little car, I can’t even remember what it was. I’m traveling to the tax office in Spring, and the nearest freeway is I-45. We usually go out Highway 94 from Lufkin, and take 19/30 to I-45, heading into Spring (which is now essentially integrated into Houston), and we exit at Cypresswood to get there. As soon as I got to the 70 mph speed zone on Highway 94, the little car I was in started vibrating like one of those old-timey weight machines with the belts that “jiggled” all the fat off you–ROFL! My arms were worn out by the time I got to Groveton, but I’d had some issues before with small cars catching the grooves on 94. I stopped in Groveton to rest my arms a bit because I was having to hold the steering wheel in a steel grip.
I went on and by the time I got to Trinity, realized there was something seriously wrong with that car. Every time it got to 65 mph, it started shaking. I was thinking a bunion on a tire, or it was out of alignment. So, I stopped at a gas station in Trinity and called Enterprise’s 24-hour roadside assistance, using the 800 number on my contract. Turned out Enterprise didn’t have an office in Trinity; and after being hung up on twice by their automated system, I was finally told, I could either wait there for the car to be towed and travel in the tow truck to the Huntsville office, or drive the car to the Huntsville office myself. I’d already traveled in it for over an hour, but it was still before the Lufkin Enterprise office opened at 8:00 a.m. Since it hadn’t blown a tire, I figured it was the alignment and told the brisk and scripted operator, “I need to get to Houston to get my work done, and you are not helping me, I’m leaving and I’ll call my local office when it opens.” She answered, “So, you won’t require roadside assistance?” I said, “No, I guess not since it’s not really of any help,” in what I’m sure would be considered a sarcastic tone. She replied, “Have a great day!”
I hung up without reply, resisting all of my inner compulsions.
Now, you have to realize something.....between Trinity and the outskirts of Houston, the highway department is doing major construction on I-45, but the speed limit for a considerable length of time before you reach the construction zone is 75 mph. After you hit the construction zone, you are restricted to two lanes with a one foot shoulder on both sides, and those barrier walls that present a very finite and claustrophobic tunnel to drive through. During this section, until you get to the Houston freeways, the speed limit is sixty-five.
So, I drove my little rental car from Trinity to Houston at sixty, because anything above that speed and the damn thing shook me to death; I could not hold it in the lane. Got honked at by everyone.......and I do mean everyone...........especially once I got to the Houston area. Fortunately, I didn’t get run over and got to the tax office about 8:45 a.m. As soon as I was in line, I called my local Enterprise office and talked to one of the wonderful folks I rent from there. I have absolutely NOTHING bad to say about those guys; I’ve been renting cars from them since 2005, and they have ALWAYS done right by me. I’ve had to rent cars several times when the van broke down, and I almost always rent a car for long trips, and they always ALWAYS take good care of me. I only live a half a block from their office. In fact, during nice weather, I just walk down there to get my cars.
Once I spoke with Jose in the Lufkin office, he started calling and trying to find me another car. He called me several times that day with reports of his progress. Unfortunately, there was NOTHING available in the Houston area. Now, this didn’t really surprise me, although I think it might surprise some of my local friends who have never lived in Houston. Wrecks are a fairly common occurrence there and rental cars are in high demand from folks having repairs done to their own vehicles. So, Jose made arrangements for me to go to the Sears Auto Center near the Woodlands mall after I got done with my work. Enterprise has an arrangement with Sears, and Sears would figure out what was wrong with the car and try to fix it.
As I was leaving the tax office and going through that 20 mph zone on Cypresswood, heading back to I-45, something clunked under the car. I looked in the rearview and saw a big chunk of red bouncing across the road. I thought I’d run over a brick, but as the red chunk hit the road, it burst into a million pieces and I realized it was some East Texas red mud. I remember thinking, “Hunh, I wonder where the heck that came from?” but not really thinking much more about it. Just a random chunk of mud I’d run over, but it did cross my mind that there is NO red mud in Houston like that we East Texans know so well during rainy times. But that was about as much thought as I gave it...........at that moment.
Now, I have not lived in the Houston area since 1996. I don’t even remember if the Woodlands mall was in existence when I lived there. Trying to negotiate around that mall is like a maze within a puzzle wrapped in a fog if you don’t live there. FINALLY after about an hour, I found the auto center. I met a really nice guy there with an oddball sense of humor almost as perverse as my own, and even met his fiancé during the hour or so I spent there. They put the car up on the lift and when the guy came back, he was just shaking his head and laughing. I knew this was going to be good.
Turned out, when they got the car up on the lift, the undercarriage was completely coated in several inches of thick, gooey, dried, East Texas red mud. It was a compact car and the weight of the mud was so bad, it had thrown off the alignment and that’s why the car was vibrating so bad. Even the backs of the wheel wells were full of mud. Whoever had the car before me had obviously SUNK that car in mud. I called our Enterprise office, spoke with sweet Anna there and told her, and she knew exactly who’d had it and how this had happened. She did not go into detail, but I sensed she was upset. I had no idea what was up; all I knew was that Sears cleaned the undercarriage, I got back in the car, hit I-45 and it was fine. I had no problems the rest of the way home except for being incredibly disappointed in Enterprise’s “24-hour roadside assistance” which was clearly a crock of propaganda and sales hype they utilized just to rent out more cars and make more money from us little peons.
Since I’d rented from Enterprise so many times, I wasn’t really concerned over this incident. The only complaint I ever had about any of their cars was that they always have really grabby brakes and it takes a bit of adjustment to get used to. There was one car I didn’t like, the Toyota Yaris, but my reasoning behind that had nothing to do with Enterprise, but with the design of the Yaris with the speedometer in the middle of the dash, but at an angle to the driver. Toyota, you really need to work on that one!
Rented another car from Enterprise for a work trip a couple of weeks ago and had no problems with the car at all. The muddy car was just a bad memory—in my mind, a fluke in an otherwise flawless relationship with this corporation. Because the problems that day were NOT with my local office, but with Enterprise’s quoted “24-hour roadside assistance.” It’s not a 24-hour assistance if it’s not available when the office is closed, right? Just my own humble opinion....
But tonight? Tonight, Enterprise’s lack of responsibility and accountability for a faulty car put mine and Jessica’s lives at risk. I can look back over the last few hours and think, THANK YOU LORD for protecting us here, and here, and here. Tonight......Enterprise’s “24-hour roadside assistance” put our lives in danger, and I want EVERYBODY who cares about Jessica Plants and Allison Maxwell to know what happened to us.
We had a work trip planned for today and I went through the usual routine of a trip, picking up the car the night before, gassing it up, running by the store, and preparing all of our necessities for the next day’s work. We sit in line down there for hours and have to take snacks, drinks, our paperwork, and something to occupy our minds while we wait. Jessica and I are also doing some office work at night now, and we both left that job early last night because we were leaving at 6 a.m. today. By the time I got the car, gassed it up, got our snacks, put all our paperwork, chair, and standing-in-line stuff in the car, it was after 10:00 p.m. last night. This trip, Enterprise assigned us a Nissan Maxima. They were out of compacts, so this one is a little bigger than the cars we usually get; wider, with a longer front end, and huge trunk. It had a push button start, which I’m not particularly fond of (I forget about grabbing the keys), but overall, a pretty decent car.
I noticed when I drove the car to the gas station that the engine was really whiney. For a woman who does not understand the intricacies of the combustion engine, it seemed to be working very hard to find the gears heading up to 40 mph. It made that whunh whunh whunh whiney noise cars make when the transmission doesn’t seem to be shifting properly, and when you braked, it downshifted harshly, like chug chug chug. I didn’t pay attention last night to the RPM’s. My own Taurus does this sometimes when it is cold and I thought, “well, the engine’s just cold, I left the house in a hurry and didn’t let it warm up properly.” I even texted Jessica and told her I wanted her husband to listen to it before we left.
You know, it’s very hard to try to type car noises—lol!! Anyway.......... life takes its own turns while we are planning for other things.
I could NOT get to sleep last night. We’ve been working till midnight, but only for about a week and my internal clock is not acclimated yet. It has always taken me some time to gear down from work and I’m not the spring chicken I used to be. My clock is having trouble adjusting to this new schedule. The last time I looked at the clock it was about 2:30 a.m. Everybody I know recognizes I am just NOT a morning person. But Jessica doesn’t live far away. I knew I could slug down some coffee, get to her house, and let her drive down this time. Usually, I drive down and Jessica drives home; it’s just what has evolved over the time we’ve been doing this job. Jessica is half my age, but she is a responsible driver and I trust her.
Well, coffee wasn’t to be this morning. I had the alarm set for 4:30 a.m. Normally, it takes me about thirty minutes to get in gear, slug down my coffee, then I do my shower-shave morning routine. I can leave my house at 5:45 a.m. and be at Jessica’s by 5:50 a.m. Typically, I am a little early and end up waiting for her. Lol—not today!!! Since I’d not gotten to sleep till so late, my sleepy head just turned off the alarms on both my clock and my phone. I’ve bashed alarm clocks before in my sleep and was really surprised to find it still intact when I got home tonight. I woke up when Jessica called me about 6:10 a.m. I just could not make the phone work! I was so groggy I couldn’t figure it out, couldn’t find my glasses, and the dang thing was just being obstinate (in my mind). When I looked at the clock I keep about 30 minutes ahead to fake out my sleepy mind, it read 6:40-something, and I bolted upright in bed because I realized how late it was. Jessica told me later she couldn't even understand me. All I said was, “Oh shit, I overslept! Let me grab a shower and I’ll be there!”
I really and truly hate oversleeping, don’t you? It just sets the whole day off on a strange kilter and I always feel like I’m spending that 12-15 hours of awake trying to catch up. I’m a real stickler about being on time. I get it from my parents, who are 30 minutes early for everything; to me, it is an insult to others to keep them waiting for me. I took a rushed sponge bath with my hospital dry-bath stuff, tied my greasy hair back in a bun, powdered down for a humid Houston day, put the cold food in the ice chest, ran that out to the car, and headed for Jessica’s. I didn’t even get my coffee because although I turned on the pot when I woke up. The damn coffee maker died this morning. When I pulled in Jess’ driveway, I turned off the car, got out as she was walking up, and said, “You’re driving!!” I was so groggy it was ridiculous. There was no way I could have focused on Lufkin traffic this morning, much less Houston’s network of frenetic auto arteries.
We stopped at the Exxon on Frank as we headed out Highway 94 and I finally got my MUCH needed coffee, Jess got a cup, and we headed for Houston. About the time we got to Groveton, I remembered the problems with the car the night before and asked Jess if the car felt strange to her. She said it had downshifted a little hard, but she didn’t hear the whining. Of course, we had the a/c going at jet engine speed by then. I don’t run the air in cars when I’m alone; my sinuses are chronically congested and the car a/c seems to makes it worse. Jess never heard the whining, but she did comment on the downshifting. But we got to Trinity with no problems, stopped for another coffee and headed to Houston. Poor Jessica had to drive through the construction barricades this morning, which terrifies her. :-( She did good though and we got to the tax office a little before 10:00 a.m., only about an hour later than we usually do.
By the time we got to the tax office, I was awake and fully conscious. We even found a good parking space, always an issue there. It was a pretty good work day; after a couple of rough runs, we got a lot done with few extraneous issues. We went through the tax line four times each and we had one extra which I ran through because Jessica ran the extra through last time. We got done a little after 4:00 p.m.
The tax office is in the same building with the Harris County Sheriff’s office and a lot of those guys smoke. While I was having a smoke break, I asked one of the 911 dispatchers how bad the rush hour traffic on I-45 was that far out. They told me it was a parking lot till about 6:00 p.m. Jessica and I have fallen in love in an Italian restaurant near the tax office, and it is the highlight of our day when we go down there. Since we’ve both been job-hunting this year, a dinner out in a nice restaurant is a real treat for us. I texted our boss and told her we were done and going to have dinner, but were not going to head out till 5:30 or 6:00 p.m. to avoid the rush hour traffic. After a long day in the tax line, and since our predecessor in this job went through a horrific accident down there and is still recovering, we try to avoid those peak traffic times in Houston. They don’t make me nervous anymore like they used to, but it seems an unworthy extra risk.
Jessica and I killed about an hour having dinner and visiting http://www.thecreativeframer.com/. I wanted to show Jessica a great bakery (Rao’s is the name of it, I think, AWESOME stuff). Both shops are in the shopping center next to the tax office, but I got distracted by some absolutely awesome artwork in the Creative Framer windows and ended up going in, meeting some new artists, and finding out more about that shop. I recommend all my friends visit their shop; it was a real treat. I plan on figuring out a way to attend one of their Painting & Merlot nights! Jessica came and found me. Jessica was kind of down all day today and I could tell she did not feel well. I said, “Come on, let’s get you home,” and we took off.
Traffic was still pretty heavy on I-45, but at the Woodlands almost all of it cleared out. One thing I like about Houston is that it’s relatively flat and you can see the scattered afternoon showers when they come. There were showers all around us today. Ya’ll know me, those clouds and showers were gorgeous.....I wanted my camera! Jessica is interested in photography too, and so I grabbed the camera out of my bag and walked her through its instructions and she snagged some great shots! I take a lot of shots in Lufkin when I’m driving, but photography from the driver’s seat in Houston traffic? Not an option.
Scattered Showers
Losing the Traffic at Woodlands Parkway
I was in a 65 mph zone and could not get this rental car over 50, or the RPM’s went into the red zone. There aren’t many exits in the construction area, so I had to put the flashers on and drive at 50 mph, hoping that the cars behind me doing 70 noticed in enough time to get over and around me.
Not much room for error here, especially with a faulty transmission. :-(
As soon as I could get off the road, I pulled over and stopped. There weren’t any gas stations or fast food places or ANYTHING in that area, and I knew I could not just stop there. We waited a bit, let the car cool down, and tried again. We were getting close to Huntsville, where the speed limit is 75 mph, but the car would not go above 50 without sending the RPM’s up. We were trying to get there because Huntsville is vastly more populated than where we were. I told Jessica to call Enterprise “24-hour roadside assistance” on my phone. I knew we were going to need help. There was no way we could drive this car back to Lufkin.
Sigh............nothing, absolutely NOTHING, from this point on out should have shocked me, but it did. American corporations are not personal anymore. Despite all of Enterprise’s commercials and ads about “24-hour roadside assistance,” I knew from my previous experience with the muddy car that this was not going to be pleasant.
In reality, I had no idea how UNpleasant it could actually get.
Jessica called “24-hour roadside assistance" and put it on speaker so I could talk to the operator. (I do NOT talk on my phone while I'm driving, EVER.) First, of course, we had to wait on hold for at least 20 minutes with some of the most incredibly awful hold music I’ve ever heard. It was so bad, we could not even figure out what it was supposed to be. I’m laughing and joking about the music because when I get nervous, I crack jokes and find a reason to laugh.
I’m nervous and cracking jokes because the entire time we’re on hold, I’m driving at 50 mph through a 75 mph zone, watching 18-wheelers come up behind me, each time praying that I’d see a blinker go on and know they’d seen my flashers. There’s no place to exit out there with some place for two ladies to stop safely. We had to keep going.
FINALLY, a human comes on the line and begins reading her script.
“Are you in a safe place?”
Me: “No, I’m trying to find one, we’re out in the middle of the woods.” (At about this point, we were passing the Sam Houston monument.)
Script: blah blah blah, they want the rental contract number, my name, that it’s a Nissan Maxima, and for some reason, the color of the car.
Jessica finds the contract number, I have to spell my name. Seriously, is “Maxwell” THAT hard to understand? The operator called me Mackwell. How many Mackwells do YOU know? I verify the make of the car and that it’s dark gray.
Script asks again: “Are you in a safe place yet?”
Me: “I’m trying to get to one.”
We had spotted a Citgo station, exited I-45, negotiated the weird frontage road and were trying to get to the gas station.
Script: “What is the problem with the car?”
I explain it to her and as we’re heading to the Citgo, suddenly the RPM’s drop to dead zero, and we’re only going 20 mph uphill to the gas station.
Me: “I think the transmission is dead, it just dropped to 20 and won’t go up the hill.”
Script: No answer.
Me: “Hello? Hello”
Once again, Enterprise "24-hour roadside assistance" has hung up on me.
I negotiate the car uphill to the Citgo and just as I get to the station, it dies completely. Jessica and I look at each other, cause we know now. This is BAD.
I get out of the car, light a much-needed anxious cigarette and call again. Again, I am on hold with their computer roughly half an hour, listening to unidentifiable Muzak. Seriously, I have NO idea what that music was.
Me, Jess, and our "trusty" rent-a-car
making the best of a bad situation
People are coming and going at the Citgo, giving me questioning looks. I’m in a strange town, it’s about 7:30 p.m. by now and dark is rapidly approaching. It was dangerous enough trying to drive the car home, now we were stuck in a relatively unpopulated place, at a kinda rundown gas station, in a town we don’t know, and we can actually see the lights from the prison from the parking lot.
Finally, as I’m watching a beautiful sunset and light rapidly disappearing from the sky, "24-hour roadside assistance" answers.
Script: “Are you in a safe place?”
Script: “What is your rental contract number?”
Script: “What is the name on the contract?” (Again.....how many Mackwells do YOU know?)
Script: “Is this a Nissan Maxima?”
Script: “What color is the car?”
Seriously?
The previous script had never even recorded our first call; we had to start all over from scratch.
Before even answering any of these questions, I asked Script to please record my phone number. With each question, I said, “Let me give you my number because we’ve already been cut off once.”
Script: “OK. What color is the car?” or whatever question was next on their script.
Finally, I got the human on the other end to record and repeat back to me our my phone number.
After this, everything just went downhill so quickly, it staggered Jessica and I. These are the choices I was offered:
Drive the car to the “airport.” WHICH airport was never clarified; I assumed Huntsville had an airport, but in fact, that was not the airport Script was referring to because Huntsville does not have an Enterprise office at their airport.
Script wanted us to drive the car back to the HOUSTON airport, at least two hours behind us. The road between Huntsville and the outskirts of Houston is relatively unpopulated, it’s getting dark, the car won’t go over 20 mph now, we have to travel back through the barricaded construction zone, possibly more rain storms, and wait at the Enterprise office at the Houston airport. AND, if they have no cars available (which is highly likely) wait until a car is turned in, possibly tomorrow morning.
Me: “Ma’am, this car is not working right, I am not driving it another foot.”
By this time, I’m f**king losing it.....Although I did not curse at Script (and that was a temptation hard to resist), I most definitely made sure they knew my patience no longer existed.
While I stay on the line with Script, I tell Jessica to call our boss on her phone. I’m thinking the husband could come and pick us up, but payday is not till tomorrow and he needs gas. I was going to tell our boss this, but then I remember, she can’t buy him any gas, because *I* have her credit card. She always sends it with us to buy food and gas when we go down there.
Me: “What other options do I have?”
Script: “We can send a tow truck to tow you to the airport to get another car. Or you can stay with the car and we’ll send the tow truck in the morning.”
I have to think about this one for a minute. Hunh? Seriously??
Me: “I beg your pardon? We can wait till morning for the tow? Do you want us to sleep in the car?”
Script: “It’s up to you ma’am, you can drive the car to the airport, be towed to the airport, or we can tow the car in the morning. Which do you choose?”
Honestly, I was so incredibly flabbergasted at the choices, I didn’t even have an answer for Script. At this point, Script wants to know EXACTLY where we are. I walk inside the store, still with the phone on speaker, and get the address from the very young male clerk. As he gives it to me, I repeat it to Script.
Script: “Thank you, Ms. Mackwell, do you want another car in the morning?”
Me: “No, I’m going home, why would I need another car?”
Script: “So, do you need another car in the morning?”
Me: “No, ma’am, I’m going HOME.”
Script: “So you need another car in the morning?”
Me, after a hesitant moment of silence that REALLY wanted to explode into profanity: “No.”
The young man at the Citgo, Reed (we’re on a first-name basis by now), looks at me with the same disbelieving look I feel on my own face. I walk back out to the car.
Script: “Ms. Mackwell, what do you want to do?”
Me: “Hold on, let me talk to my boss.”
Jessica has been on the phone with our boss, repeating Script’s choices to her as the conversation progressed. I can actually hear my boss’ incredulity in her silence. Then my boss says something I can’t hear. Jessica turns to me and says, “She is coming to get us.”
Me: “Come and get the car, our boss is going to pick us up.”
Script: “Thank you, Ms. Mackwell. I hope you have had a pleasurable experience and 24-hour roadside assistance has satisfied your needs. Have I answered all your questions?”
Jess and I just looked at each other with our mouths hanging open. Simultaneously, we both answered with a resounding NO!
Script: “Have a great night!”
OK, if you were in this situation, in that place, abandoned by the company you had relied on to get you home, what the eff would YOU say after a statement like that? Me and Jessica have a common and perverse sense of humor—I hung up and we burst into laughter!
About three seconds after this call, Script called me back wanting to come and get the car NOW. Huntsville is about two hours from Lufkin and our boss’ arrival and I asked Script to please tell the wrecker to wait, because literally, they were stranding us on the side of the road, at a gas station, nearly in the middle of nowhere.
Script: “I’m sorry, Ms. Mackwell, but I cannot schedule the wrecker for two hours from now.”
Me: “Whatever.”
Script had some more to say after this, but honestly, I didn’t hear another word. I’d been working since 6 a.m., on less than three hours sleep, and had realized I was dealing with a corporation that didn’t give a rat’s ass about our safety or needs, and the only answer that came to mind was:
“Whatever.”
At 8:41 p.m., I got a computerized call from the wrecker telling me they would be there at 9:15 p.m., which was roughly the time the wrecker arrived. The driver felt terrible, and we had a great laugh about “Have a great night!” We got our stuff out of the car, opened our chairs, and watched as he hooked up the wrecker. He was just another peon like us, trying to do his job. He said he felt bad about leaving us there, but we reassured him that our boss was on her way. By this point, we were expecting her any minute. The driver hooked up the rental car, and asked once again if we were going to be OK. We reassured him our boss was on her way, and he wished us good luck, we had a good laugh over “Have a great night!” again, and he took off.
buh-bye!
We opened our tax line chairs, and I couldn’t help it. “Did we answer all your questions? No! Have a great night!” Jessica and I will never again be able to say those words without laughing.
In conclusion...........Enterprise Rent-a-Car 24-hour roadside assistance? Non-existent.
Script (the corporation)’s sincerity about caring for their customers? Non-existent.
Enterprise Rent-a-Car’s 24-hour roadside answer to a dying transmission in one of their rental cars? Leave two defenseless women on the side of the road at a gas station in a strange town in their folding chairs in the dark surrounded by their personal items.
Enterprise Rent-a-car 24-hour roadside assistance?
Talk about an oxymoron..............
Now that you’ve read our story............if you care about Jessica Plants and Allison Maxwell...........go tell every single person you know. It’s way past time us “peons” started being treated like humans again.
I couldn't help it, my last text of the night? to Jessica and my boss, "We've shared a unique and bonding experience....Have a great night!"
Me and Jess, stranded at the roadside...
But not completely alone, we made lots of new friends. :-)
Stranded at the roadside, just us and our tax line snacks and precious leftover pasta--ROFL! you gotta laugh at this stuff, because if you don't, your head blows up.
These? These are the lights from the prison, just down the road. But thinking it's only the minimum security unit, no razor tape, just barbed wire, so we're OK, right?
According to Enterprise and their renowned "24-hour assistance" of course we are!
hmmmmm.....rust stains on the pavement? or blood stains?
I'm not telling..........
Sunday, December 4, 2011
The Full Story of Miracle Kitty
12/4/11
This all happened on 11/30/11.
This time of year, I don’t always stop by the pond after work. The sun is already below the treeline, and Elvis never eats much in the evenings. On this day though, I did swing by, just to chunk Elvis some bread and smoke a cig and have a nice break after work. I had an appointment at 6:00 to meet with some friends, and didn’t plan on staying but a few minutes.
I was on the dam side of the pond throwing bread to Elvis when I noticed movement on the other side of the pond. There are a lot of ducks migrating through there and I always look for movement around the edges of the pond, in case there are new visitors. There some kids on the bank over there looking at it, so I hollered over, “what are ya’ll lookin’ at?” The kids hollered back, “baby alligator!”
Of course, I’d love to get a picture of a baby alligator. Elvis was about done, so I hopped in the car and drove around to the other side. I passed three boys walking along the driveway and asked them if it really was a baby alligator, and they said they didn’t know. Took my camera out and walked as far out as I could without fighting the mud. I was looking through the display on the camera, and I honestly thought for a second it WAS a baby alligator or a snake. It was dark black, shiny, and wet, whatever it was.
Then it cried out, and the cry was so piercing and startling, I jumped back. The young nutria at the pond make sounds like this sometimes, and I thought I was seeing a nutria wrapped up in some trash. I asked the boys there if they’d help me get it loose. There was no way I could leave it there to die that way.
Went back to the car and grabbed my trash picker-upper, hoping it would give us some extra length to where the nutria was, and maybe we could use it to pull the trash away from it. One of the boys (Marc) volunteered to wade out and get it, something I was hesitant to do, cause I know how deep that mud is out there. Marc waded out without sinking and grabbed the black bag with the trash grabber. When he lifted up a piece of what I thought was trash, we all realized it was a backpack. At this point, I was still thinking, oh my gosh, how are we gonna unravel that nutria without getting bit?
Marc carried the backpack to the shore, and he cried out, “It’s a puppy!” As he drug it back to where we were standing, I saw little white feet and knew this was not a wild animal trapped in trash. But I still didn’t think there was any animal cruelty involved; I thought the dog had just wondered into the water and the backpack was just a piece of trash it got tangled in. A lot of strange things have been washed up there since the drought last summer; the tornado of 2009 dropped a lot of debris into the pond.
Marc laid the backpack down on the ground and started unzipping, eventually getting to the large compartment of the backpack. He had the backpack lifted up off the ground 3-4" and as he opened the main compartment, a small animal slid out. The animal was so bloated at first I thought it was a puppy, but when it started crying we knew it was a kitten, not a little bitty one, but the size Max and I call ‘cattens’ when they’re not kittens anymore and not yet full grown cats.
Marc, myself, and two other boys were there when Marc opened that backpack, and all of us immediately put our hands to our mouths. Miracle kitty was completely drenched, unmoving, and his only response when we touched him was that horrible piercing cry. I just kept saying, “Oh my God, oh my God! Who would do such a horrible thing?” I was crying, and when I looked up, I saw that all three of the boys were crying too. I got my phone out and called the police. Marc stayed with the cat while the other two boys and I went back to my car to find a towel or SOMETHING to wrap around the poor creature. It was shivering uncontrollably, and my first thought was to pick it up and warm it up, but I was afraid to because every time I touched it, it let out that horrible piercing cry. I was afraid I was hurting it.
The trunk of my car is still full of crap I transferred to it when we traded in the van, but for the first time in history, there wasn’t a towel in there. I found a big black trash bag and went back to the cat, and tucked the bag in around it. When the police got there, we told him what had happened and he was visibly shaken. I asked him if he had a towel or something in his car, but he didn’t have one either. When he went back to his car to call Animal Control, I took off my hoodie and tucked it in around the cat. This all happened just at dusk, when the temperature plummets these days. The only thing I could think to do for the cat was to try to keep it warm. I honestly thought he was a goner. He was nearly completely nonresponsive except for that horrible cry when we touched him.
The cop came back out to the bank and said Animal Control was out on Atkinson Drive chasing a horse. He was not going to be able to wait for them, so I volunteered to wait until they came. He helped me move the cat into a box and I put it in the backseat of my car, turned on the engine and the heater, and waited.
While I was in the car waiting, I checked on Miracle kitty several times. He’d quit crying, but he was still breathing, although it was very labored and hard to detect. I didn’t know if he had just given up, or was beginning to warm up and not in as much discomfort. The last time I checked, it seemed that its breathing was even worse; I had to shine my flashlight on it to tell it was breathing at all.
Eventually, around 6:00, I saw Animal Control turn in to the VFW driveway. I love living in a small town—these same two officers had been at my office a couple of days earlier chasing a loose pit bull (a VERY friendly one). I told them what had happened. One of the officers went to look in the box and tried to pull the backpack out, thinking it was a cover. I cried out “no!” and even as she slightly moved the backpack, the cat let out that horrible yowl again, and so I knew it was still alive. But both officers and I, after seeing such the kitty in such a horrible state, discussed the fact that we didn’t think it would survive. They put kitty in their truck and took off. After all, these guys are only on the clock till 5:00; they did this on overtime.
After Animal Control left, I sat there for a moment and just cried. I decided to go ahead to meet my friends, but I could not get the image of that kitten out of my head. It slid out of that backpack like a lump of wood when Marc unzipped it. It was drenched, crying, and never moved an inch. The thought that someone did this on purpose was even more horrifying. I was up till 5:00 AM that night, throwing up the whole time. That horrible picture was burned into my mind.
I called in to work the next morning because I could not get my stomach calmed down, and I still couldn’t get it out of my head, despite the distractions I’d tried. About 8:30 or 9:00, the cop called me to let me know the cat had made it through the night. He’d promised to let me know, and I was very touched he kept his promise. Still, every time I closed my eyes, I saw it again. Jen had to be at work at noon, and Goodwill is on the same road as Animal Control, so after I dropped her off, I drove on down there, hoping to see Miracle Kitty in a better state than the night before.
When I got there, one of the officers from the night before was on the benches letting a puppy have some yard time. She called the director and got permission for me to visit Miracle kitty. I went back and saw him for the first time away from the horror. He wasn’t moving around, but he did respond when I petted him and kind of tilted his chin up for scratches like he knew exactly how the petting system worked. He was dry and it turned out he was a little tuxedo cat, with the cutest markings. The officer felt his body and said this was the first time she’d touched him when he felt warm. She told me they were concerned he wasn’t up and walking around yet. I told her that come what may, if Miracle needed sponsors for extra medical care, I’d find them. And if the original owners did not claim her, I promised to help find her a new, safe, loving home.
When I left Animal Control, my phone rang as I was driving back to the pond to find an earring I lost out there the night before. The phone call was from KTRE, Channel 9, our local station. They asked me if I’d do an interview, and I said yes, and she agreed to meet me at the pond. I was very impressed with the reporter; she was very smart, and understood completely I wanted to do the interview to try to find out who had done this. That night, they ran the story, and I did not feel embarrassed in the least for the hoopla. I just hope it helps to find the culprit.
If you know me, you know what a soft heart I have for animals—ANY animal, domestic or wild. How many folks do you know who feel guilty when they can’t meet a duck for bread every morning? My friend, Janice, says they are defenseless and arouse all of our maternal instincts. I think I will always feel responsible for Miracle kitty. As of this date, he is doing really well. He’s walking around now and eating real food. If the original owners don’t show up, he will be available for adoption, and I have already vowed to find him a good home.
I pray to God I never see anything like that again in my life. I lived through the tragedy of losing my son and what happened to him was a nightmare, but I dealt with it because it was a logical, natural progression from illness to death. THIS was completely inhumane. Whoever committed this act has had their heart invaded by the devil. I pray to God every day that they catch the perpetrator.
allison
This all happened on 11/30/11.
This time of year, I don’t always stop by the pond after work. The sun is already below the treeline, and Elvis never eats much in the evenings. On this day though, I did swing by, just to chunk Elvis some bread and smoke a cig and have a nice break after work. I had an appointment at 6:00 to meet with some friends, and didn’t plan on staying but a few minutes.
I was on the dam side of the pond throwing bread to Elvis when I noticed movement on the other side of the pond. There are a lot of ducks migrating through there and I always look for movement around the edges of the pond, in case there are new visitors. There some kids on the bank over there looking at it, so I hollered over, “what are ya’ll lookin’ at?” The kids hollered back, “baby alligator!”
Of course, I’d love to get a picture of a baby alligator. Elvis was about done, so I hopped in the car and drove around to the other side. I passed three boys walking along the driveway and asked them if it really was a baby alligator, and they said they didn’t know. Took my camera out and walked as far out as I could without fighting the mud. I was looking through the display on the camera, and I honestly thought for a second it WAS a baby alligator or a snake. It was dark black, shiny, and wet, whatever it was.
Then it cried out, and the cry was so piercing and startling, I jumped back. The young nutria at the pond make sounds like this sometimes, and I thought I was seeing a nutria wrapped up in some trash. I asked the boys there if they’d help me get it loose. There was no way I could leave it there to die that way.
Went back to the car and grabbed my trash picker-upper, hoping it would give us some extra length to where the nutria was, and maybe we could use it to pull the trash away from it. One of the boys (Marc) volunteered to wade out and get it, something I was hesitant to do, cause I know how deep that mud is out there. Marc waded out without sinking and grabbed the black bag with the trash grabber. When he lifted up a piece of what I thought was trash, we all realized it was a backpack. At this point, I was still thinking, oh my gosh, how are we gonna unravel that nutria without getting bit?
Marc carried the backpack to the shore, and he cried out, “It’s a puppy!” As he drug it back to where we were standing, I saw little white feet and knew this was not a wild animal trapped in trash. But I still didn’t think there was any animal cruelty involved; I thought the dog had just wondered into the water and the backpack was just a piece of trash it got tangled in. A lot of strange things have been washed up there since the drought last summer; the tornado of 2009 dropped a lot of debris into the pond.
Marc laid the backpack down on the ground and started unzipping, eventually getting to the large compartment of the backpack. He had the backpack lifted up off the ground 3-4" and as he opened the main compartment, a small animal slid out. The animal was so bloated at first I thought it was a puppy, but when it started crying we knew it was a kitten, not a little bitty one, but the size Max and I call ‘cattens’ when they’re not kittens anymore and not yet full grown cats.
Marc, myself, and two other boys were there when Marc opened that backpack, and all of us immediately put our hands to our mouths. Miracle kitty was completely drenched, unmoving, and his only response when we touched him was that horrible piercing cry. I just kept saying, “Oh my God, oh my God! Who would do such a horrible thing?” I was crying, and when I looked up, I saw that all three of the boys were crying too. I got my phone out and called the police. Marc stayed with the cat while the other two boys and I went back to my car to find a towel or SOMETHING to wrap around the poor creature. It was shivering uncontrollably, and my first thought was to pick it up and warm it up, but I was afraid to because every time I touched it, it let out that horrible piercing cry. I was afraid I was hurting it.
The trunk of my car is still full of crap I transferred to it when we traded in the van, but for the first time in history, there wasn’t a towel in there. I found a big black trash bag and went back to the cat, and tucked the bag in around it. When the police got there, we told him what had happened and he was visibly shaken. I asked him if he had a towel or something in his car, but he didn’t have one either. When he went back to his car to call Animal Control, I took off my hoodie and tucked it in around the cat. This all happened just at dusk, when the temperature plummets these days. The only thing I could think to do for the cat was to try to keep it warm. I honestly thought he was a goner. He was nearly completely nonresponsive except for that horrible cry when we touched him.
The cop came back out to the bank and said Animal Control was out on Atkinson Drive chasing a horse. He was not going to be able to wait for them, so I volunteered to wait until they came. He helped me move the cat into a box and I put it in the backseat of my car, turned on the engine and the heater, and waited.
While I was in the car waiting, I checked on Miracle kitty several times. He’d quit crying, but he was still breathing, although it was very labored and hard to detect. I didn’t know if he had just given up, or was beginning to warm up and not in as much discomfort. The last time I checked, it seemed that its breathing was even worse; I had to shine my flashlight on it to tell it was breathing at all.
Eventually, around 6:00, I saw Animal Control turn in to the VFW driveway. I love living in a small town—these same two officers had been at my office a couple of days earlier chasing a loose pit bull (a VERY friendly one). I told them what had happened. One of the officers went to look in the box and tried to pull the backpack out, thinking it was a cover. I cried out “no!” and even as she slightly moved the backpack, the cat let out that horrible yowl again, and so I knew it was still alive. But both officers and I, after seeing such the kitty in such a horrible state, discussed the fact that we didn’t think it would survive. They put kitty in their truck and took off. After all, these guys are only on the clock till 5:00; they did this on overtime.
After Animal Control left, I sat there for a moment and just cried. I decided to go ahead to meet my friends, but I could not get the image of that kitten out of my head. It slid out of that backpack like a lump of wood when Marc unzipped it. It was drenched, crying, and never moved an inch. The thought that someone did this on purpose was even more horrifying. I was up till 5:00 AM that night, throwing up the whole time. That horrible picture was burned into my mind.
I called in to work the next morning because I could not get my stomach calmed down, and I still couldn’t get it out of my head, despite the distractions I’d tried. About 8:30 or 9:00, the cop called me to let me know the cat had made it through the night. He’d promised to let me know, and I was very touched he kept his promise. Still, every time I closed my eyes, I saw it again. Jen had to be at work at noon, and Goodwill is on the same road as Animal Control, so after I dropped her off, I drove on down there, hoping to see Miracle Kitty in a better state than the night before.
When I got there, one of the officers from the night before was on the benches letting a puppy have some yard time. She called the director and got permission for me to visit Miracle kitty. I went back and saw him for the first time away from the horror. He wasn’t moving around, but he did respond when I petted him and kind of tilted his chin up for scratches like he knew exactly how the petting system worked. He was dry and it turned out he was a little tuxedo cat, with the cutest markings. The officer felt his body and said this was the first time she’d touched him when he felt warm. She told me they were concerned he wasn’t up and walking around yet. I told her that come what may, if Miracle needed sponsors for extra medical care, I’d find them. And if the original owners did not claim her, I promised to help find her a new, safe, loving home.
When I left Animal Control, my phone rang as I was driving back to the pond to find an earring I lost out there the night before. The phone call was from KTRE, Channel 9, our local station. They asked me if I’d do an interview, and I said yes, and she agreed to meet me at the pond. I was very impressed with the reporter; she was very smart, and understood completely I wanted to do the interview to try to find out who had done this. That night, they ran the story, and I did not feel embarrassed in the least for the hoopla. I just hope it helps to find the culprit.
If you know me, you know what a soft heart I have for animals—ANY animal, domestic or wild. How many folks do you know who feel guilty when they can’t meet a duck for bread every morning? My friend, Janice, says they are defenseless and arouse all of our maternal instincts. I think I will always feel responsible for Miracle kitty. As of this date, he is doing really well. He’s walking around now and eating real food. If the original owners don’t show up, he will be available for adoption, and I have already vowed to find him a good home.
I pray to God I never see anything like that again in my life. I lived through the tragedy of losing my son and what happened to him was a nightmare, but I dealt with it because it was a logical, natural progression from illness to death. THIS was completely inhumane. Whoever committed this act has had their heart invaded by the devil. I pray to God every day that they catch the perpetrator.
allison
Monday, October 31, 2011
Happy Halloween!
Every year since our son, Travis, was eight months old, we’ve gone to my parents’ house for Halloween. We went to show Mema and Papa his costume, and he trick-or-treated their street after he did ours, because he knew all the neighbors over there too. When his daughter was born, Travis never hesitated, but just showed up at their house to take her trick or treating there. This year, his new son joined us, continuing a 27-year tradition in our family.
While we hand out candy to the spooky little witches and Supermans, we sit on the porch and reminisce about past years and costumes. Travis’ first costume was an old devil costume of Max’s, with a headband with horns and a cape three times as long as he was. His favorite part of the treats that year were the bright colors on the packages, and Max ate all his chocolate.
My parents don’t like to talk about Aaron, but Max and I always remember, with simultaneous sadness and sweetness, the only time Travis got to go with his brother. Aaron was 16 months old; Travis was five and a half. They went as matching vampires in capes I made from an old dress of mine. Aaron was getting over chicken pox, no longer contagious, but the makeup covered up his spots. Travis raided Aaron’s bucket of candy, and I remember Aaron saying, “No, bubba!” to him, the same way Kadence does now to Aidan.
Travis was eight years old when Jen was born, and he could not wait to take her trick-or-treating, even though she was only 5 months old. Hook was his favorite movie at the moment, and he went as a pirate, with a long black wig, sash at the waist, and a hook created from aluminum foil by his creative mom. Every time he’d run back from a house, he would show Jen the candy he got, while Jen only looked at him with the wide-eyed adoration she’s had for him since birth.
By the time Jen was eight, we had moved to Lufkin and lived out in the country where we never had trick-or-treaters. We just started at Mema and Papa’s house, carrying costumes to their house and getting ready there. Travis always danced and fidgeted, anxiously waiting for Jen to get ready. He’d then take her by the hand, leading her around the neighborhood, teaching her all his trick-or-treat tips, and always reminding her to say “thank you.” That year, Jen was a glamour girl, in a red sequined dress I made her, hair up in a fashionable bun highlighted by a tiara, and glamorous make-up. My heart always flipped when I followed them down the street during this era. Travis’ tall figure next to her small one, that tiny hand tightly clasping his index finger, keeping her safe, and making sure she hit the best houses and got the best stuff. He’d usually arrive back at the house carrying her, because her little feet got tired, and he has never been able to tolerate Jen in any form of discomfort without making it all better.
Last year, Travis’ daughter, Kadence was almost the same exact age as Aaron was when they arrived to go trick-or-treating. We waited on the porch while Sandra got Kadence’s outfit on, and when that baby walked out in her Wonder woman costume, including winged shoes and gold bracelets of power, my heart just melted. This year, Kadence and Sandra were pirate wenches, while Aidan was a tiny, wiggly, giggly, glow-in-the-dark, skeleton.
Traditions in life change so much and sometimes disappear as life evolves. It makes even more precious this long tradition of ours. These memories began when Travis was in diapers, my dad’s hair and beard were a deep dark brown, and he had way more of it. One year Mother wanted to be a witch and I painted her face so wickedly well the kids were afraid to take candy from her. She swore after that she’d never be the bad witch again. There were years with babies in our arms, little hands grasping our fingers, pulling them in a wagon or pushing a stroller, and carrying them when their tiny feet got tired. Every year, my mind flashes back to images of miniature vampires, pink princesses, the giant spider costume Travis requested one year, Jen wearing a princess dress three years in a row, and I know I’ll never forget tonight’s tiny laughing skeleton.
I relish these memories. They are so cherished and I keep them very close to my heart because they sustain me during difficult, dark, and tough times. I look forward to the time when Max and I are the white haired great-grandparents, Travis and Jen are our strong guardians, and their grandchildren in diapers and ready for their first taste of that good sweet stuff. These traditions, and the wonderful bright and colorful memories they provide, are just a small fraction of what makes life such a beautiful and wonderful thing. I can’t wait for all the good stuff yet to come!!!
While we hand out candy to the spooky little witches and Supermans, we sit on the porch and reminisce about past years and costumes. Travis’ first costume was an old devil costume of Max’s, with a headband with horns and a cape three times as long as he was. His favorite part of the treats that year were the bright colors on the packages, and Max ate all his chocolate.
My parents don’t like to talk about Aaron, but Max and I always remember, with simultaneous sadness and sweetness, the only time Travis got to go with his brother. Aaron was 16 months old; Travis was five and a half. They went as matching vampires in capes I made from an old dress of mine. Aaron was getting over chicken pox, no longer contagious, but the makeup covered up his spots. Travis raided Aaron’s bucket of candy, and I remember Aaron saying, “No, bubba!” to him, the same way Kadence does now to Aidan.
Travis was eight years old when Jen was born, and he could not wait to take her trick-or-treating, even though she was only 5 months old. Hook was his favorite movie at the moment, and he went as a pirate, with a long black wig, sash at the waist, and a hook created from aluminum foil by his creative mom. Every time he’d run back from a house, he would show Jen the candy he got, while Jen only looked at him with the wide-eyed adoration she’s had for him since birth.
By the time Jen was eight, we had moved to Lufkin and lived out in the country where we never had trick-or-treaters. We just started at Mema and Papa’s house, carrying costumes to their house and getting ready there. Travis always danced and fidgeted, anxiously waiting for Jen to get ready. He’d then take her by the hand, leading her around the neighborhood, teaching her all his trick-or-treat tips, and always reminding her to say “thank you.” That year, Jen was a glamour girl, in a red sequined dress I made her, hair up in a fashionable bun highlighted by a tiara, and glamorous make-up. My heart always flipped when I followed them down the street during this era. Travis’ tall figure next to her small one, that tiny hand tightly clasping his index finger, keeping her safe, and making sure she hit the best houses and got the best stuff. He’d usually arrive back at the house carrying her, because her little feet got tired, and he has never been able to tolerate Jen in any form of discomfort without making it all better.
Last year, Travis’ daughter, Kadence was almost the same exact age as Aaron was when they arrived to go trick-or-treating. We waited on the porch while Sandra got Kadence’s outfit on, and when that baby walked out in her Wonder woman costume, including winged shoes and gold bracelets of power, my heart just melted. This year, Kadence and Sandra were pirate wenches, while Aidan was a tiny, wiggly, giggly, glow-in-the-dark, skeleton.
Traditions in life change so much and sometimes disappear as life evolves. It makes even more precious this long tradition of ours. These memories began when Travis was in diapers, my dad’s hair and beard were a deep dark brown, and he had way more of it. One year Mother wanted to be a witch and I painted her face so wickedly well the kids were afraid to take candy from her. She swore after that she’d never be the bad witch again. There were years with babies in our arms, little hands grasping our fingers, pulling them in a wagon or pushing a stroller, and carrying them when their tiny feet got tired. Every year, my mind flashes back to images of miniature vampires, pink princesses, the giant spider costume Travis requested one year, Jen wearing a princess dress three years in a row, and I know I’ll never forget tonight’s tiny laughing skeleton.
I relish these memories. They are so cherished and I keep them very close to my heart because they sustain me during difficult, dark, and tough times. I look forward to the time when Max and I are the white haired great-grandparents, Travis and Jen are our strong guardians, and their grandchildren in diapers and ready for their first taste of that good sweet stuff. These traditions, and the wonderful bright and colorful memories they provide, are just a small fraction of what makes life such a beautiful and wonderful thing. I can’t wait for all the good stuff yet to come!!!
Monday, October 17, 2011
What I Learned About Facebook in Two Weeks
Two weeks ago, I was really bored at work and started hiding all the Facebook ads. It gets a little addictive and I never stopped. This was how FB responded:
No matter how many times you hide Zappo and PetSmart and WalMart, they come back; they must make huge FB 'contributions.'
Despite the fact that I consistently marked everything 'uninteresting' I continued to get ads related to things I am interested in, which means the ads are linked to what we write. For instance; if I post a picture or participate in a photography-related post, I get ads about getting degrees in photography or learning about it online or websites with pictures. If I mention a glass of wine, i get a rehab ad (that one always cracks me up). If I mention my grandies, I get ads for toddler stuff. So, they really do pay attention to what we say, except when we request changes or complain that we don't like the new format or that we need help with it. I'd still like to get rid of that new ticker and just go back to having the most current statuses on top without designating anything a 'top story.'
Finally, a couple of times I got a little pop-up asking me to take a survey about what I would be interested in seeing. Of course, I'm always interested in improving FB, so both times I clicked it. Sadly, neither time did the link work.
In addition, during this time period, I had another FB issue come up regarding a real security problem, which at this time, I’m still not sure is resolved. After an extensive search of the Facebook Insecurity Center, got no help. After an extensive search for a "Contact Us" button, found none. And after a direct message to Mr. Zuckerberg himself, got no response.
I'll leave ya'll to take this news as you wish....
Personally, I’ve learned to be careful when friending others. I’ve friended several new people on FB with no problems whatsoever. Sometimes the relationship continues and sometimes not, just like ‘real’ life. It’s not the first time I’ve learned to be careful, and it won’t be the last. It’s part of life. You can live and trust or not. It’s your choice, but so are the consequences. This is an occasional consequence in my choice.
The irony of the entire situation is that I still like Facebook, but it has nothing to do with the ads or stalkers or them tracking my status updates. It has everything to do with reconnecting with friends I grew up with, keeping up with friends who live far away, getting to see pics of my nephew’s football games and my grandkids during their days, getting to share pictures I take and finding out what people think of them, finding new friends with common interests, bitching about common pet peeves (stupid litterbugs), getting to vent the goofiness that flies through my head during the day, and yes, making new friends. Overall, I think Facebook is a good thing; it's just a bit of a pain sometimes.
Love to all those I love who love me back,
allison
No matter how many times you hide Zappo and PetSmart and WalMart, they come back; they must make huge FB 'contributions.'
Despite the fact that I consistently marked everything 'uninteresting' I continued to get ads related to things I am interested in, which means the ads are linked to what we write. For instance; if I post a picture or participate in a photography-related post, I get ads about getting degrees in photography or learning about it online or websites with pictures. If I mention a glass of wine, i get a rehab ad (that one always cracks me up). If I mention my grandies, I get ads for toddler stuff. So, they really do pay attention to what we say, except when we request changes or complain that we don't like the new format or that we need help with it. I'd still like to get rid of that new ticker and just go back to having the most current statuses on top without designating anything a 'top story.'
Finally, a couple of times I got a little pop-up asking me to take a survey about what I would be interested in seeing. Of course, I'm always interested in improving FB, so both times I clicked it. Sadly, neither time did the link work.
In addition, during this time period, I had another FB issue come up regarding a real security problem, which at this time, I’m still not sure is resolved. After an extensive search of the Facebook Insecurity Center, got no help. After an extensive search for a "Contact Us" button, found none. And after a direct message to Mr. Zuckerberg himself, got no response.
I'll leave ya'll to take this news as you wish....
Personally, I’ve learned to be careful when friending others. I’ve friended several new people on FB with no problems whatsoever. Sometimes the relationship continues and sometimes not, just like ‘real’ life. It’s not the first time I’ve learned to be careful, and it won’t be the last. It’s part of life. You can live and trust or not. It’s your choice, but so are the consequences. This is an occasional consequence in my choice.
The irony of the entire situation is that I still like Facebook, but it has nothing to do with the ads or stalkers or them tracking my status updates. It has everything to do with reconnecting with friends I grew up with, keeping up with friends who live far away, getting to see pics of my nephew’s football games and my grandkids during their days, getting to share pictures I take and finding out what people think of them, finding new friends with common interests, bitching about common pet peeves (stupid litterbugs), getting to vent the goofiness that flies through my head during the day, and yes, making new friends. Overall, I think Facebook is a good thing; it's just a bit of a pain sometimes.
Love to all those I love who love me back,
allison
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Today at the Pond, 10-12-11
Today, when I went to feed Elvis, something magical happened. It was a really incredible moment in nature, and I have to share this one in words.
I got to the pond about 5:30, parked the car, and walked the little path to where Elvis and I have been meeting. He has not been eating as much bread lately, but he always eats a couple of pieces, and the turtles and perch enjoy the rest. We had a nice rain this afternoon. Well, I say nice. It rained, that’s the big thing. It was just one brief shower, but after a summer when I can remember all the specific dates it rained, any brief shower is welcome.
It was still raining when I got to the pond and I can’t take the camera down to Elvis when it’s raining. I don’t mind getting wet, but I love my camera. This is why I did not visually record what happened. Elvis parallels me in the water as I follow the path through the woods, and while I climb down the bank, he moves in closer. Today was so pretty after it rained. It was just sprinkling by the time I got to him. The sun was peeking through to the west, and I kept looking back east to see if there was a rainbow. The rain passed and the surface of the pond was as pristine as window glass. Elvis actually came up on the bank, flapping his wings for me within three feet of where I was standing. He is always less threatened when I’m down low, so I just sat down in the wet grass and hand fed him tonight. That’s the first time in ages I’ve gotten to do that.
After 2-3 pieces, he’d had enough and headed out. The entire time I’m feeding him, of course, the turtles and the perch are swarming around the extra pieces I throw out to keep them away from Elvis. Elvis swam through them, scattering the perch in a thousand different directions. One zipped across the water for a good 12-15 feet before finally submerging! I like watching Elvis swim across that mirror of the pond, watching the V of his wake spreading across the whole pond, so I stayed there watching him until he got to the island. While I was paying attention to him, I did not notice that the waters around me had calmed, and I could see through to the bottom of the pond. I watched the perch swimming through, and several huge soft-shelled turtles and red-eared sliders came up on the mud in front of me to get Elvis’ scraps. It’s amazing to see these wild animals so close. Normally turtles scatter when any human approaches. I scarcely breathed while I watched them. I knew if I made the slightest motion they would scatter, muddying the water and ending the show. As usual, the turtles were snapping at each other, and fighting over the small scraps of bread. They can be very entertaining, especially to a nature-loving geek like myself.
As I was watching the turtles, the perch, and the big bass slapping their tails on the water, something caught the corner of my eye. As I looked to my right, I saw the year-round resident American coot sidling up on my right. He was less than 20 feet away when I noticed him. I’ve been thinking for a couple of weeks now that he’s been feeding on Elvis’ leftovers along with everybody else. Several times, I’ve gotten him on video within 50-100 feet of where I was standing. I sat there like a statue: on the wet grass, with those funny little grass bugs crawling all over my already itchy psoriasis legs. I dared not move. Had I brushed aside a hair, scratched an itch, or heaven forbid, sneezed, the coot would have taken off running across the water. I scarcely breathed as he came, closer, closer, closer. He was much smaller up close than I thought he would be, bigger than the pied-billed grebe he hangs out with, like the size of a wood duck but smaller than a teal. He is about one-third Elvis’ size, but Elvis is an anomaly anyway. As I was watching the coot, moving only my eyes, I glanced out and about 15 feet out from the shoreline was the pied-billed grebe that keeps this coot company. The grebe likes to move in on the perch after I feed Elvis. All I’ve ever seen the coot eat is vegetation; all I’ve seen the grebe eat is fish. They make a good pair of companions and are never far apart. The grebe glided over the water closer to me, cautiously aware of me and unsure if it was safe to come close.
I didn’t move a muscle or make a sound. The grebe has NEVER come close to me. I just watched as both these birds glided nearer. The coot pecked at Elvis’ leftovers, while the grebe dived within five feet of me, resurfacing right beside the coot, swirling in circles as he swallowed the perch he caught. Then, just when I thought it couldn’t get any better nature-geek wise, across this mirror of the pond, the great egret that lives at the pond sailed over the water, his reflection flying along the surface. He landed about 50 feet down the bank from the rest of us and began hunting for his dinner along the moss beds.
The whole time I’m watching this incredibly display of nature, everything is backlit by this huge gorgeous Texas sky, filled with pink and blue and purple clouds moving out after the rain. As I look out toward the VFW building, the sky is dark and I can see the showers still falling toward the south. Toward the east, the sky has cleared and taken on that golden magic light of twilight that we photographers chase every day. Toward the west, the setting sun has lit the clouds in all the colors of life, demonstrating God’s beauty in all its glory. Behind me are the woods, which are a thin strip between the pond and the nearby road. Although I can hear cars moving on the road behind me, I sit, in this quiet, peaceful place, surrounded by amazing natural beauty. I felt like God was sharing a special secret with me.
I wish I could have recorded all of this on video; it really was an amazing visual experience. But on 10/12/11, “Today at the Pond” exists only in my memory. I don’t feel my words even come close to describing the experience.
Eventually, everything beautiful ends.....the egret ate a perch and moved across the pond to his usual hunting spot. The grebe, full from his dinner, glided back to the island, most likely to prepare for his evening roost. Elvis spotted the coot close to me hastily swam over from the island. Sometimes, Elvis can be a bit of a tyrant. He used to peck at Ducky sometimes when he thought Ducky as stealing his bread, and today he swam between me and the coot. He didn’t peck the coot, he just pecked toward him, warning the coot off. The coot swam on down the shoreline, away from me. Once he reestablished his dominance, Elvis returned to the island. Bread gone, the perch and turtles retreated to the depths of the pond.
I got up, chastising myself for my now-soaked butt, and took one last look around. I thank God every day for the pond; it is a very special place to me, not just because of Elvis, but because I really am a total true nature nut, and I have seen things there I might never have seen, and it’s all within 15 minutes of my home. That place is a true heavenly gift to me; I am eternally grateful for it. Tonight was particularly beautiful, and I am especially grateful. Thank you, Lord!
FOOTNOTE:
A little background on these four birds: Elvis, the American coot, the great egret, and the pied-billed grebe. In the winter, there are normally 8-10 grebes and 8-10 coots living at the pond. After this summer and the drought, with so little water and food, I don’t know what will happen this winter. But normally, they divide into two groups, and chase each other off their personal turf whenever necessary. When late spring comes, the other grebes and coots disappear and only one of each species remain. I always wondered why only these singles stayed year-round. This summer, I realized one of the coot’s wings is about six inches shorter than the other. I’ve never seen this coot fly, and I’m assuming he can’t. I don’t know how he got the short wing, I don’t know if my assumption is correct, and I don’t even know if this is the same coot I’ve been watching for the past four years. All I know is there is only ever one coot, only one grebe, and only one great egret that stay at the pond year-round. These three birds, along with Elvis, are constant residents. The egret is alone because he chases all the other egrets off. Elvis is alone because he is Elvis and the only semi-domesticated Muscovy that’s ever shown up there. Elvis is a very capable flier; he just keeps coming back because he wants to, I guess. There have been a few times when he disappeared for a few days, but so far, he’s always come back. I don’t know why the one grebe is always there, but I have to guess it is because he cannot fly. I’ve never seen this single grebe fly, but unlike the coot, I’ve not seen any particular handicap that might explain why he doesn’t. In time, I may eventually find out why, and I may not. Some day, I know, Elvis will disappear too, and I may never know what happened to him. Part of the intrigue of watching nature is seeing things you never know the reasons for. Nature is a wonder. That’s what keeps me watching.
I got to the pond about 5:30, parked the car, and walked the little path to where Elvis and I have been meeting. He has not been eating as much bread lately, but he always eats a couple of pieces, and the turtles and perch enjoy the rest. We had a nice rain this afternoon. Well, I say nice. It rained, that’s the big thing. It was just one brief shower, but after a summer when I can remember all the specific dates it rained, any brief shower is welcome.
It was still raining when I got to the pond and I can’t take the camera down to Elvis when it’s raining. I don’t mind getting wet, but I love my camera. This is why I did not visually record what happened. Elvis parallels me in the water as I follow the path through the woods, and while I climb down the bank, he moves in closer. Today was so pretty after it rained. It was just sprinkling by the time I got to him. The sun was peeking through to the west, and I kept looking back east to see if there was a rainbow. The rain passed and the surface of the pond was as pristine as window glass. Elvis actually came up on the bank, flapping his wings for me within three feet of where I was standing. He is always less threatened when I’m down low, so I just sat down in the wet grass and hand fed him tonight. That’s the first time in ages I’ve gotten to do that.
After 2-3 pieces, he’d had enough and headed out. The entire time I’m feeding him, of course, the turtles and the perch are swarming around the extra pieces I throw out to keep them away from Elvis. Elvis swam through them, scattering the perch in a thousand different directions. One zipped across the water for a good 12-15 feet before finally submerging! I like watching Elvis swim across that mirror of the pond, watching the V of his wake spreading across the whole pond, so I stayed there watching him until he got to the island. While I was paying attention to him, I did not notice that the waters around me had calmed, and I could see through to the bottom of the pond. I watched the perch swimming through, and several huge soft-shelled turtles and red-eared sliders came up on the mud in front of me to get Elvis’ scraps. It’s amazing to see these wild animals so close. Normally turtles scatter when any human approaches. I scarcely breathed while I watched them. I knew if I made the slightest motion they would scatter, muddying the water and ending the show. As usual, the turtles were snapping at each other, and fighting over the small scraps of bread. They can be very entertaining, especially to a nature-loving geek like myself.
As I was watching the turtles, the perch, and the big bass slapping their tails on the water, something caught the corner of my eye. As I looked to my right, I saw the year-round resident American coot sidling up on my right. He was less than 20 feet away when I noticed him. I’ve been thinking for a couple of weeks now that he’s been feeding on Elvis’ leftovers along with everybody else. Several times, I’ve gotten him on video within 50-100 feet of where I was standing. I sat there like a statue: on the wet grass, with those funny little grass bugs crawling all over my already itchy psoriasis legs. I dared not move. Had I brushed aside a hair, scratched an itch, or heaven forbid, sneezed, the coot would have taken off running across the water. I scarcely breathed as he came, closer, closer, closer. He was much smaller up close than I thought he would be, bigger than the pied-billed grebe he hangs out with, like the size of a wood duck but smaller than a teal. He is about one-third Elvis’ size, but Elvis is an anomaly anyway. As I was watching the coot, moving only my eyes, I glanced out and about 15 feet out from the shoreline was the pied-billed grebe that keeps this coot company. The grebe likes to move in on the perch after I feed Elvis. All I’ve ever seen the coot eat is vegetation; all I’ve seen the grebe eat is fish. They make a good pair of companions and are never far apart. The grebe glided over the water closer to me, cautiously aware of me and unsure if it was safe to come close.
I didn’t move a muscle or make a sound. The grebe has NEVER come close to me. I just watched as both these birds glided nearer. The coot pecked at Elvis’ leftovers, while the grebe dived within five feet of me, resurfacing right beside the coot, swirling in circles as he swallowed the perch he caught. Then, just when I thought it couldn’t get any better nature-geek wise, across this mirror of the pond, the great egret that lives at the pond sailed over the water, his reflection flying along the surface. He landed about 50 feet down the bank from the rest of us and began hunting for his dinner along the moss beds.
The whole time I’m watching this incredibly display of nature, everything is backlit by this huge gorgeous Texas sky, filled with pink and blue and purple clouds moving out after the rain. As I look out toward the VFW building, the sky is dark and I can see the showers still falling toward the south. Toward the east, the sky has cleared and taken on that golden magic light of twilight that we photographers chase every day. Toward the west, the setting sun has lit the clouds in all the colors of life, demonstrating God’s beauty in all its glory. Behind me are the woods, which are a thin strip between the pond and the nearby road. Although I can hear cars moving on the road behind me, I sit, in this quiet, peaceful place, surrounded by amazing natural beauty. I felt like God was sharing a special secret with me.
I wish I could have recorded all of this on video; it really was an amazing visual experience. But on 10/12/11, “Today at the Pond” exists only in my memory. I don’t feel my words even come close to describing the experience.
Eventually, everything beautiful ends.....the egret ate a perch and moved across the pond to his usual hunting spot. The grebe, full from his dinner, glided back to the island, most likely to prepare for his evening roost. Elvis spotted the coot close to me hastily swam over from the island. Sometimes, Elvis can be a bit of a tyrant. He used to peck at Ducky sometimes when he thought Ducky as stealing his bread, and today he swam between me and the coot. He didn’t peck the coot, he just pecked toward him, warning the coot off. The coot swam on down the shoreline, away from me. Once he reestablished his dominance, Elvis returned to the island. Bread gone, the perch and turtles retreated to the depths of the pond.
I got up, chastising myself for my now-soaked butt, and took one last look around. I thank God every day for the pond; it is a very special place to me, not just because of Elvis, but because I really am a total true nature nut, and I have seen things there I might never have seen, and it’s all within 15 minutes of my home. That place is a true heavenly gift to me; I am eternally grateful for it. Tonight was particularly beautiful, and I am especially grateful. Thank you, Lord!
FOOTNOTE:
A little background on these four birds: Elvis, the American coot, the great egret, and the pied-billed grebe. In the winter, there are normally 8-10 grebes and 8-10 coots living at the pond. After this summer and the drought, with so little water and food, I don’t know what will happen this winter. But normally, they divide into two groups, and chase each other off their personal turf whenever necessary. When late spring comes, the other grebes and coots disappear and only one of each species remain. I always wondered why only these singles stayed year-round. This summer, I realized one of the coot’s wings is about six inches shorter than the other. I’ve never seen this coot fly, and I’m assuming he can’t. I don’t know how he got the short wing, I don’t know if my assumption is correct, and I don’t even know if this is the same coot I’ve been watching for the past four years. All I know is there is only ever one coot, only one grebe, and only one great egret that stay at the pond year-round. These three birds, along with Elvis, are constant residents. The egret is alone because he chases all the other egrets off. Elvis is alone because he is Elvis and the only semi-domesticated Muscovy that’s ever shown up there. Elvis is a very capable flier; he just keeps coming back because he wants to, I guess. There have been a few times when he disappeared for a few days, but so far, he’s always come back. I don’t know why the one grebe is always there, but I have to guess it is because he cannot fly. I’ve never seen this single grebe fly, but unlike the coot, I’ve not seen any particular handicap that might explain why he doesn’t. In time, I may eventually find out why, and I may not. Some day, I know, Elvis will disappear too, and I may never know what happened to him. Part of the intrigue of watching nature is seeing things you never know the reasons for. Nature is a wonder. That’s what keeps me watching.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Remembering....
I wrote these after 9/11
9/12/01
From a perfect blue September sky
Darkness fell
And we, a nation bound together in shock,
We sat
We watched
Overwhelmed by our awakening
Knowledge that yes,
We were one nation, yes
We were indivisible, yes
Our fellow workers, friends, mothers, fathers,
Pain was our own.
In panicked moments we
Phoned to make sure, that niece
That nephew, were they? Did he?
Touching base to ensure the
Safety of our own loved.
Aching, hurt, blind and bleeding from the
Cuts of cowardly madmen
Whose low acts made us
One injured entity.
Looking for avenues to assist
Praying for survivors
Longing for the normality of
The previous day.
Never again to rest on our laurels
Never again to take for granted
The freedom our fellow men
Enjoyed till the moment of their end.
Always to remember
In their honor,
For their children and ours,
That freedom must perpetuate.
9/21/01
In my hometown….
Folks congregate at the store to drink Cokes and smoke and
talk and catch up with old friends and see who's out and about.
Sunday fills the churches.
High school football is the sport of choice.
Prejudice and pride, partiality and tolerance live side by side.
In my hometown….
Elders teach us how to can figs and play 42.
We have fire ants and pine trees,
Beer drinkers and Baptists.
We don’t keep up with the Jones.
Your way is your way.
There are more pick-ups than cell phones,
Logging feeds families.
Our voices have a twang,
Our dogs are dawgs,
Our cars get oll.
Chicken fried steak is a food group.
In my hometown….
Computers are the latest greatest:
The internet not such a bad thing at all.
Daddy sells on ebay,
Mama emails kids who never call.
In my hometown….
Laziness meets with disapproval.
The police catch the bad guys.
Parents spank their children when they misbehave.
Children say "sir" and "ma’am,"
Knowing to forget such words is disrespectful.
In my hometown….
The pace is slower,
Folks say "hi,"
Look you in the eye,
Talk to you in the grocery store
Smile when they give you change
Usually forget to check your I.D.
In my hometown….
We need a break.
Our hearts are overwhelmed
with terror and injury
and hope.
Old Glory reigns
Patriotism runs high.
In my hometown….
We lit candles and prayed
It was a dream,
We sang
We re-united
Wishing that day had never come.
In my hometown….
We believe in "one nation, under God,"
"Truth, justice and the American way,"
The Golden Rule.
In my hometown….
We believe…
And that makes all things possible.
9/12/01
From a perfect blue September sky
Darkness fell
And we, a nation bound together in shock,
We sat
We watched
Overwhelmed by our awakening
Knowledge that yes,
We were one nation, yes
We were indivisible, yes
Our fellow workers, friends, mothers, fathers,
Pain was our own.
In panicked moments we
Phoned to make sure, that niece
That nephew, were they? Did he?
Touching base to ensure the
Safety of our own loved.
Aching, hurt, blind and bleeding from the
Cuts of cowardly madmen
Whose low acts made us
One injured entity.
Looking for avenues to assist
Praying for survivors
Longing for the normality of
The previous day.
Never again to rest on our laurels
Never again to take for granted
The freedom our fellow men
Enjoyed till the moment of their end.
Always to remember
In their honor,
For their children and ours,
That freedom must perpetuate.
9/21/01
In my hometown….
Folks congregate at the store to drink Cokes and smoke and
talk and catch up with old friends and see who's out and about.
Sunday fills the churches.
High school football is the sport of choice.
Prejudice and pride, partiality and tolerance live side by side.
In my hometown….
Elders teach us how to can figs and play 42.
We have fire ants and pine trees,
Beer drinkers and Baptists.
We don’t keep up with the Jones.
Your way is your way.
There are more pick-ups than cell phones,
Logging feeds families.
Our voices have a twang,
Our dogs are dawgs,
Our cars get oll.
Chicken fried steak is a food group.
In my hometown….
Computers are the latest greatest:
The internet not such a bad thing at all.
Daddy sells on ebay,
Mama emails kids who never call.
In my hometown….
Laziness meets with disapproval.
The police catch the bad guys.
Parents spank their children when they misbehave.
Children say "sir" and "ma’am,"
Knowing to forget such words is disrespectful.
In my hometown….
The pace is slower,
Folks say "hi,"
Look you in the eye,
Talk to you in the grocery store
Smile when they give you change
Usually forget to check your I.D.
In my hometown….
We need a break.
Our hearts are overwhelmed
with terror and injury
and hope.
Old Glory reigns
Patriotism runs high.
In my hometown….
We lit candles and prayed
It was a dream,
We sang
We re-united
Wishing that day had never come.
In my hometown….
We believe in "one nation, under God,"
"Truth, justice and the American way,"
The Golden Rule.
In my hometown….
We believe…
And that makes all things possible.
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