"Overdone and Undercooked" Newspaper Columns©

Oh gawd, this was going to be Hell.  School and I have never had a good history.  But me and math had even a worst relationship.  It’s funny because as an adult I escaped anything that had to do with math.  I don’t know how many people, knew how frozen  I would become trying to figure out math.

One slight problem I could not start cooking in the kitchen until  I passed Math! and Speech by the end of the quarter.  Great.  More pressure.  That is all I needed.

Except for one thing the Financial aid money that will let me survive the rest of this year.

Oh boy.  When I was 16 in 1969 my mother had made all my clothes –typical of the day.  I wanted her to stop and she said if I wanted store bought clothes then get a job.  So, I did at K-mart.

I worked inside a long circular enclosed area that held fancy candy.  I was a chocoholic, so i did find a few that were running loose and I had to knock them over and eat them.  I had only been there three months and was called into the upstairs office.

They told me.  I was Fired.  Why?  I kinda knew it had to be few fancy chocolates missing.  But NO, that wasn’t it at all.  They said I had been stealing money.

Of course I had not stolen any money, but what I didn’t tell them was that I did not know how to count change!

Huge embarrassment at 16.

The beginning in my life full of embarrassment.

 

“Brian, it is . . .hard for me to talk to a total stranger like you, about me.  I have always been a private person. I already have been so exposed with NO privacy to Attorneys and a Judge and even Police.

“I assisted my husband by calling on the phone to solicit for new business.”  He was self-employed.

Brian sat still for a minute and then he leaned forward and started to rattle off a bunch of Classes.  I stopped him at Culinary, which would earn me an AA degree.  School at age 57?  Me an AA degree?  Wow. That would actually be awesome.  Giving Brian a nod.

Brian’s eyebrows formed a V and then his big smile raised them up.  ”I can see it now.  (Gesturing with his palms up) You are a Chef and working maybe in beautiful hotels or working on a Cruise Ship.  Or better yet a cooking show?

His comment energized me more than anything else had in months!

“Well, school will give you a new life.  It also will provide you computer skills and develop resume writing, interviewing, and job search skills.  I promise Jillie you will become self-sufficient.  However you will have to work at it just like everything else in life.  But first you have some prerequisite.  Will have to take a test to see what level your skills are at.”

‘Test’s,” I said grimacing.

Later that week I found out the results of my test!  I had three classes: Student strategy, Speech and the worst one. . .MATH.  Math?  I still had to count on all my fingers and toes. Oh no.  Oh no.

I also did not have multiplication memorized as well and to tell you the truth.

I never learned how to count change.

 

You have dreams of cooking, but there is no one to cook for.  You have dreams of entertaining and buying those new sets of dishes, but there is no one to eat off them.  My old world (5 months ago) was made up of high-energy, high-maintenance fun given to others.  Going through a divorce has crippled and paralyzed me so deep and for so long.

The fears come.  The fears of not being hired, not fitting in, walking the streets with all my belongings inside a shopping cart…not being alive enough because you have been dead for so long.

“I’m a mess Brian, right now.” I sucked in air and let it out again slowly.  “I guess the term Displaced Homemaker fits me.  I hate the word displaced.  I don’t know how, when suddenly I came face to face with my entire life gone.

I am 57 years old and my husband had three degrees and three designations.  The only reason I am here is because the Judge told me too.  Because I only have a high school education.  The Judge also said that you could help me financially.”

“Yes. Yes.” Brian said, he had listened to me in silence.  “We can get some grants and financial aid. “Did you read the summer schedule that starts in August? “To be honest Brian I couldn’t think straight enough or keep the tears out of my eyes long enough to read the summer schedule.”

Brian thinks for a minute and then says, “Let’s look at this as just one day at a time.  You only have tomorrow to face.  Jillie think of coming to us is like a “Fill-in-the-blank Dream” you can pick anything that is on our class schedule.

I laughed.  I like Brian.

I realize you have been a housewife, but did you do any work outside of the house?”

 

On the Judge’s order I had been waiting in the office of the local technical  college school counselor, Brian Thomas, for about 15 minutes.  Enough time to read his degrees on the wall.

The door has opened and Thomas headed straight for his desk.  He had a water bottle in one hand and paper in the other and shut the door with his foot.  Smiling with bushy eyebrows that raised up and lowered with his smile.  He at once apologized for being late.  “Jillie is it?”

“Yes.”  “Well, that is unusual.” He gave me a hmmm-what-do-we-have here head tilt.  “Well, actually it is Jill but it is a nickname cause I could’nt say it when I was little.  “Oh, so you have a lot of family here,” said Brian.

I always hate this question.  It is uncomfortable for everyone when I say, No.

“Actually, I have no close family left just my adult Daughter.”  ‘Oh, Geeze I’m sorry.” Brian’s head went down and he shuffled through some paper on his desk. “Let me look at your application here.”

“Oh, well I see that you should start in the … he squinted his eyes at the paper…Displaced Homemaker Program.”

“What?”  I questioned.  He continued. “Yes, the Displaced Homemaker Program.  It is for a displaced homemaker.  Someone who, after serving as an unpaid Homemaker for many years is forced to join the paid workforce due to a Separation, Divorce, Disability or Death of a Spouse or Significant other.

I hung my head, as a tear rolled down my face.  “Gawd, I’m sorry Jillie, “he muttered.

It was the best of times and the worst of times, but it was the only time I knew….being  homemaker.  Now the title feels like a cold dark lake.  I do not what to plunge in there–you have no idea what kind of bacteria is lurking around.

Displaced, is  a gawd awful word.  Roof tiles are displaced when dislodged from a Tornado!

And that is exactly how I felt when my daughter had the nerve to grow up and leave.  Suddenly, I had the urge to jump out of my chair run to the Grocery store and buy a Family Pack just for ole time’s sake.

How to you just turned it off?  I do not get it.  Being a homemaker was all I know.

There is symbolism here with being  a DISPLACED HOMEMAKER.

 

I hear the Judge, but I’m lost in my thoughts.  Two days ago I had to back up my grocery cart and I heard a man’s voice behind me.  He touched me in the small of my back.  His hand stayed there for a while as there was a three-way cart pile up.  The touch sent me off.  I have been touched for 39 years.  Held, hugged, squeezed, wrapped around softly, gently, and it made me long to be touched again.  I turned to look at the small, little old man.  He will never know how wonderful his touch felt.

I miss being married.  I have no business being here.  This can’t be happening.  My attorney, Heidi, said nothing.  There was more silence.

Then suddenly AFM flipped out!  She spit words at the Judge like a staple gun,  talking about Nick as if God had sent him from Heaven.

SWACK the Judge got everyones attention again making good use of his gavel.  “QUIET!” Judge told AFM.  Things happened very quickly after that.  The Judge said, since I did not work as I was a housewife, (all the years of working side-by-side I never took a paycheck) the fact that Nick didn’t show up in Court, the Judge considered him Guilty.  And Nick was the only bread winner, all of the Bills would be his responsibilty!

The Judge warned that this was going to be complicated.  I had better find some money fast, so he suggested that I go to Displaced Homemaker School Program and Financial Aid and that this was all temporary… until the next and final trial date on MARCH 21.  One Year From Now.

The Judge shook his head.  He slowly looked up and said, in a nasal droning voice one more word.

“NEXT.”

Every time “Heidi” (my new nickname) for my young inexperienced attorney tries to speak or interrupt or argue a point AFM runs over her like a popped pimple.

The Judge, with his chin in both hands, is gazing  intently at the AFM’S chest, legs?  He looks like- oh, I don’t know- in love?  “Judge, this poor man cannot possibly pay any bills,” AMF says, with a tilt of her head and a big, sad, sigh. AFM is an obvious college graduate.  I see no ring on her finger.  She didn’t need it-she oozed confidence.  I wish I could say the same for myself. I could feel my blood boil and I hate, hate, hate, that I look at her enviously.

“We must sell the house immedately!” stomped the AFM.

WHAT !  NOW THIS IS CRAZY.  Sell the house?  Where will I live?  I have no skills.  I have no education. I start to babble in a choked voice when Heidi pinches my elbow. I look down at her she raises her eyebrows trying to convey maxium “shush” and she shakes her head gently and mouth’s the word “NO”.

This is irrational.  I have  to say something.  I feel punctured.  The AFM glares at me as if I had worn the wrong perfume.  I’m just like “okaaaaay…” to the second pinch.  My life has disappeared.  Fear is my new life and now is a bad attorney with bad advice going to make this worse?

SLAM

The Judge HAD found a gavel and the courtroom went silent.

The Judge spoke. “You,” looking directly at me, as I stood between both attorneys. I stare back at the Judge in dumb confusion.  “You realize this is a huge mistake.  Financially it will ruin you.”

The three of us stood there stiff and silent for endless minutes.  The Judge kind of drew himself up, took a deep breath and said, “In case you didn’t hear me.  I will say it again.  It seems to me after 39 years of marriage it would be a lot easier just to stay together then to face what is ahead of you.  You are facing financial ruin.  Why can’t you work this out?  Do you want this divorce?”

NO! NO! NO! NO!  I want to scream, but now Heidi has grasped my arm untill it hurts. With mental telepathy I’m trying to get the Judge to hear me.  Judge, listen, REALLY? I want to save my husband. Oh, please.  I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs.   I wanted to throw my hands up and look toward the ceiling searching for someone to help me.

I had never seen a  Judge before.  In my mind he would wear a flowing black robe and hold a gavel.  Instead, he wears a suit and a troubled look.   We (the Judge, me and my new young attorney are waiting for the “Attorney for Men.” AFM.  She is late.

Us and the entire courtroom (who are these people in the bleachers?) can hear the “Attorney for Men” coming down the hall.  How?  The tap-tap-tap on the marble courtroom floor is escalating like a fast-moving Gazelle being chased by a Cheetah.  It is the clatter that only stiletto heels can make.

Everyone has turned towards the huge double door entry to the courtroom.  I hold my breath.  I feel as if I am watching a Super Bowl TV commercial-in slow motion.  Tan long legs, strapped in six-inch heels appear first in the doorway.  Followed by a thigh peeking through a slit in a cream color pencil skirt.  A sheer long sleeved blouse, teenage long hair bounces behind her like it had never seen a bad hair day and dares you to think it had.

I look at the Judge.  Who is looking at her.  I look at the people in the bleachers. Who are also looking at her.  I look at my attorney.  Out of the blue her hair is now in tight Heidi braids.  A white peasant top with puffy sleeves.  A dirndl skirt with suspenders, bare feet, and, I swear she is holding a can of milk next to the cow behind her.

Well, that’s it.  I’m dead.

Ms. Melon cocked her head and with a big sigh says, “Because we are in a recession, Dear.  In a divorce you will end up at a trial where the Judge does not know either of you.  He will have you sell the house to pay off debt.  It is as simple as that.”

She pauses for just a moment.  “You are in more trouble than you think if your husband is involved with bad people taking drugs and has a gun.  I think worrying about your house is the last thing you should be thinking of.  Get an attorney today. NOW.  Do not waste another minute here.”

Ms. Melon rose to her feet.  She pulled out a drawer shoveled through a mess of clutter and drew out a card.  “Here is an attorney. Go now!  You are in trouble!  The same words the Police Officer had said.  “First men they leave emotional and then they leave physical.  Your husband is out of control in his behavior going to need a restraining and financial order.  You need it NOW.  RUN, RUN before closing today and get this attorney now.”

Suddenly I had whole new respect for this lady.  She did hear me. And now she was visibly upset, and she was right!  All I had thought about was the house.

“It is 4:05 they close at 5p.m.” Ms. Melon wrote and spoke the address down. “I’ m rushing you out of here because it is late afternoon and I know they close at exactly 5p.m.  Go!  Go!  Go!

I went back to the car and looked at the card.  Confused, horrified and desperate I drove right to the office address.  It was 4:2Opm.

This attorney office was nothing like Tax attorney Richard’s office. High rise, expensive part of town.  Five Attorney names on the door.  I open the door to a waiting area rich with decor, solid wood floors, picture window view of the city, plants, mirrors, vibrant wall art.

My next visit on this same day was with Ms. Melon aka ‘Unmarried Counselor’. If you don’t need a dedicated full time physical office, but still want to establish a highly professional business presence.  A Premier Virtual Office could be the right solution for you.  Said the sign on the front door.

The inside was a large waiting area. Diverse with receptionist’s manning phones. “Mrs. Jillie please follow me to suite 110.  My name is Jennifer.”  Jennifer knocked on the door.  And we both heard a voice yell. “Be there in a minute!”  Jennifer nodded at me and walked away.  Much later than a minute a voice shouted, “Come in.”

The unmarried Counselor had an economy size office inside the King size building.  “Hello.  Yes I am Ms. Melon and I need to finish this call.” She raised her first finger on her right hand to her lips.  Whoever she was talking to was doing all the listening because Ms. Melon was upset and compaining about the receptionists.

She scared me a little.  She was very forward and aggressive in her tone and movements.  She started to complain  louder about the receptionist and I noticed her dull, widly, curly hair was coming undone from its Bun.  She had on a blouse that reminded me of an artist smock-filled with every color in the rainbow in small blocks all over the fabric.  Her long navy-blue Maxi skirt with slits grazed the top of the Orange Crocs on her feet.

She waved at me to take the chair.  A folding metal chair. Her office so tiny I didn’t want to scoot my chair back far for fear of hitting the wall.   She finally settled down and got off  the phone.  She picked up a file. “Jillie Aldridge.” That’s you correct.” “Yes.  You were  referred to me from  Don the leader of the Divorce Recovery group at the Union Gospel Church.”

“What is your story, Jillie?”  Blunt and to the point. Okay. I went ahead with the same story I had told the drug counselor and that I wanted to keep my house.

Ms. Melon said that I was a strong woman who positively radiates energy. (Wow! We had known each other now all of maybe six minutes?) She continued, “Bet you can quess my answer, even in the short time we’ve been acquainted.” “Guess your answer?” I shrugged.

Ms. Melon thought about this for a moment, screwing up her face. “Well dear, be prepare to lose your house in foreclosure or bankruptcy.”

“NO.” I slowly shook my head.  I already did not like her.  She was too scattered and she obiously didn’t hear a word I said. “Well yes, I am sure your house is under water like everyone else in this great depression?”  “As I said, No, actually I have equity.”  “You do?” Ms. Melon narrowed her eyes at me.

“Yes,!” I said with enthusiasm. “We bought it 15 years ago and have acreag and in 2006 it was worth a lot of money.  I know the value has gone down with the great recession, but I cannot lose it. It is the only retirement I have.”

“Well, you will.  So just start to get used to the idea.” She said dismissively. In as calm a voice as possible, I answered, “Why does everyone say that to me.”

I say nothing for a moment, remembering.  “Garrett, when our little girl heard we weren’t going to see their children anymore I found in her bedroom where she had pinned up their pictures.  She had drawn and X through each face.”

I sunk back in my chair my head dropped to my neck and suddenly it was like when you get damn floaters in your eyes and you spend the next hour in irritation.  The reality of it all was hitting me so hard I could not even lift my head.

I stammered. “We never even had a six pack of beer in the fridge.'”You had a barn didn’t you.”  Before I could answer Garrett, he jumped in with another question. “The barn, the storage upstairs a lot of hiding places I bet.”  I lifted my head and stared at this total stranger.  “Did you take out the garbage,” Garrett said.  “No, as a general rule Nick did, but so what?”  Garrett was silent.

I looked away for a moment. “Oh, gawd Garrett.” I say in my all-in-a-days-idiot voice.  “I hadn’t looked at it like that.  Nick was no longer hiding pot; he was hiding alcohol too?”  “I think it is too late for Nick.”  Garrett sighed. “With alcohol and drug problems.  From how you have described his behavior; he is past the point of no return.”  “Why would Nick with education be so dumb as to take drugs?” I asked.

Garrett frowned.  He shook his head and then looked up. “Because .  They don’t think they will be hooked.  Also, Jillie long-term, heavy pot smoking can leave lingering effects. At this stage when addicts talk about their drug of choice, it’s almost mystical.  Only an addict can help themselves.  Everyone else is their pawn.”

With Nicks Gout, High Blood pressure, and all the medical problems. Garrett made me realize that there was nothing me or my daughter could do to physically and mentally help him.  He had made his choice to do heavy drugs and it was very clear that I needed to save myself and say goodbye to Nick.

“Garrett can you show me that poster again?”