Keeping my cool. Not.

I'm typing this as I am on hold and speaker phone with HealthCare.gov.  Yes, I should have done this several months ago, on October 5, to be exact, when I stopped being covered by the City of Albuquerque's health insurance plan.  But here I am, on New Year's Eve, upping my blood pressure, ensuring that I'll NEED that champagne cocktail at midnight tonight.

I knew this would be a frustrating process, but I had no idea.

I start with the New Mexico Health Exchange website, cleverly called bewellnm.  I look at the various health plans in the Marketplace.  My choices are ick, urk, and yuck.  But, I use the nifty comparison tool, and come up with the plan that seemed least smelly.   Unfortunately, there seems to be no dental or eye care available, which is just wrong.  And there's this mystical thing called 50% of coinsurance....I have no idea what that means, so apples/oranges comparison is not possible.

Then, I go to healthcare.gov to apply.  I create a user name and password, they send me an email, I follow the verification link, log in and BOOM!  big fat nothing.  So, I click on the chat link and have a lovely scripted conversion with Jamie.  "We're sorry for your frustration and are trying to make this work for you."  Um, fine.  Get me logged in.  "We're sorry the website is not working for you."  Umm...so what do I do.  "An agent at this number will be glad to help you with your application."  aaaargh. "We know this is frustrating for you, we're just giving you options."  Fine.

So, now I call the 800 number.  In a commendably quick time, I get my agent.  Then the nightmare begins. I explain what I've done.  I explain again where the problem was.  I give my name.  Address.  Address again.  Spelled out address (v as in victor, i, s as in sam....).  Social Security number.  Birthdate.  Okay, can I put you on hold?  (Do I have a choice?)   5 minutes later, I am telling her what I've done.  I give my name.  Address.  Address again.  I say, Just what were you doing just now?  She was trying to get the online access for me.  I say, I was told you could do the application for me on the phone.  She says, oh sure, we can do that.

aaaargh.

Now comes the agonizing and humiliating process of filling out the application.  Name again.  Address again.  Birthdate again....oooh some new questions, all about income.  Umm, there is no income.  Yes, there's rental income.  Enough to cover the mortgage, so it balances out to zero.  Investments.....I guess savings counts, maybe $100 a year.  Self-employment....well, not really.  The money I get for house-sitting is basically covering living expenses, and it doesn't involve W2s or 1099s or any of those things that the IRS wants.  And this is all about my plans for 2014 taxes.  No, I don't expect the income I had in 2011.  (2011?  What's that about?)

I say, this form doesn't seem to have unemployed people in mind.  She says, it's the same form for everyone.  I'm getting increasingly flat affect and distinct as I answer the questions, then abruptly my frustration spikes and I start questioning the process.   Big mistake, it just flusters her, and she is having problems enough dealing with the pop-up windows.  BEEP!  error, error, error.  (Cue robot voice here.)

Finally she submits the application.  Two minutes later, she starts reading the results.  I qualify for Medicaid because, go figure, I'm broke.  So all that research about plans was waste motion.  I say, what if I want another plan?  She says, they won't accept you because you have no income.  I say, two years ago when I was unemployed I applied for insurance and they were happy to give me a plan and take my money.  What's the difference here?  She says, they won't accept you if you don't have income.  I say, huh?  and we go around and around.  I say, so what if I go outside this system and call  Blue Cross?  She says, you can do that, but they will still check your income.  What if I lie on my application and say I'm making $3000 a month? They will still check your income.

So, Medicaid is my only choice?  Apparently so.  And, what do I do now?  Wait for them to contact me.

Fifty-five minutes later, and I'm still uninsured.  And I need that champagne cocktail.

Sometimes I'm a domestic kind of chick

This morning we channeled the birds:  they were outside eating seeds and we were inside eating the granola that I made yesterday.  It was a lively scene out there:  close to a dozen western scrub jays dominating the feeders and intimidating each other.  But, there were other more interesting birds.  I have ID'd the ubiquitous and pushy western scrub jay, the ground-scrabbling hooded junco, stripy female house finch, red-splashed male house finch, flirty juniper titmouse, adorable mountain chickadee, plus a possible pine Siskin but probable yellow male house finch. I need a guru.

Here are yesterday's haiku on the subject:

Morning feeder watch...
The usual suspects and
One stripy chipmunk.

I put out bird seed.
Now there's a fox underneath.
I feel so guilty.

C informed me that this was NOT a Peter and the Wolf scenario:  the fox was seeking seeds, not birds.  He stood in the shade of the feeder, watching the house intently, and then nuzzled on the ground.  She's probably right.  He had rusty back and head, black under-hung mouth, and white chest.  He was very foxy!  Birds continued to swirl around the feeder, but the ground feeders had disappeared.  Eventually he took off through the scrub juniper, and I watched his movements, in and out of the trees, as he went up the hill.  His gait was not fast, but was very purposeful, a fox on a mission.

I am delighted to have provided some amusement for both E and me, but I also find myself in a sort of melancholy nesting mood.  This will be the first Christmas away from any family, and it's the first holiday season spent in someone else's home.  So much of Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's involves food, family, and festive decor.  I have my own rituals too:  re-reading Greenwillow and The Christmas Carol, listening to Nutcracker and Messiah, singing madrigal-type carols (The Boar's Head, The Wassailing Song, The Holly and the Ivy) and other more melancholy songs (In the Bleak Midwinter, Coventry Carol.)   I usually make origami tree ornaments, cards, and wreaths, using materials I have at hand.  And, of course, I bake Spritzbakkelse and make lefse and fudge.

So, I find myself doing some of these things, to E's delight ("You are always creating things!") I am less pleased with the results, but the process is enchanting.  I love scavenging the yard for scraps of juniper, pinon, dried plants, etc.  Then, I sit amongst sappy, spicy-smelling clippings, wrapping them around and around each other, tying them off with yarn or ribbon or wire, adding spots of color and texture.  I made two wreaths a few days ago, without a form.  They are hanging from the outside house lamps, and are already sagging out of shape.  Today I clipped the dried flowers from a dead vase arrangement.  Taking the moldy stalks to the compost, I discovered two year-old wreaths.  I disinterred the metal frames from the grey-brown sticky pines and brought them inside to make a wreath for the casita and a wreath for M and C.  My guess is they will fall apart within 24 hours, but such is life.

I need red ribbon.
My hands are covered in sap.
I love making wreaths.

  

The Epod is looking festive, with the wreaths, a huge poinsettia I bought from C's school, some snowflakes in the window, some vases filled with juniper and pinon.  I've decorated the make-shift trees with ear-rings and origami.  E and I have been singing carols together, and it's cozy enough.  But, I miss the things I had back in my own home.  There's no ribbon, for example.  And no Oregon grape to add a shiny dark green holly-ish texture.  And, the huge grape vine wreath is no more.  I have no idea where the cookie press is.  The little angel chimes are in with all the ornaments, which D hopefully salvaged.  The ornaments were 30 years in the collecting, and I'll likely never see them again.  One of them was a mystery:  I found it when I was still living in the milk barn, in with the fir boughs and ornaments that I taped to the open stair posts.  It was a wooden dragon, painted green and gold.  In subsequent years, it hung from the center of my biggest wreath.  I still don't know who gave it to me.  I know I didn't buy it for myself. I know it's one of my favorite ornaments.

I miss my annual musings on the subject.  

I miss making presents for stocking stuffers.  One year I knitted little balls and filled them with rice and catnip for all the family cats.  They lasted 12 hours, which was just about right.

I miss playing music with my family, and singing carols with D's family.  I miss sitting on Santa's lap (R in his father's old red velvet Santa suit), telling him I was an excellent girl last year, and receiving my present.

I miss the domesticity of the season.

Status Update

A friend posted a Facebook status by Anne Lamott which brought several things to mind.

Musing #1....

I LOVE Anne Lamott  Why don't I read more of her stuff?  Why don't I follow her writing advice in  Bird by Bird?  Then again, why do I even attempt to write? She's saying everything I want to say, and better.  It is validating to have someone of her caliber doing what I do:  writing about the every day stuff and posting to Facebook. But, her everyday stuff has larger implications, and her whining is to mine as a Bach Cantata is to Abba.

I sometimes feel guilty that I spend so much time focusing on First World Problems.  Yes, I am in Year 1 of a divorce.  Yes, I have ten years of stress behind me,  relational and financial.  Yes, I do not know what I want to be when I grow up.  Yes, I quit my job about 3 years too early, without knowing how I will be supporting myself 6 months hence. Yes, it appears that my traveling days are over, or at least in abeyance.  Yes, it will be difficult if not impossible to lose weight and get back to my CycleOregon shape.  Yes, it is unlikely I will ever be partnered again.

But who cares?  I have food, shelter, companionship, worthwhile work to do, music to make (and the ability to do so), things to create.  I have the potential to envision and craft a new life.  The elements currently present in my life are soul-affirming:  beauty around me, savory food within me, activities that stretch or console me.  And I am aware of that every moment.   As I type I am listening to wind chimes, watching the pinon dance, seeing E's white hair glowing in the sun, rejoicing that the birds have found the seed I scattered for them, getting ready to go listen to Christmas music in a beautiful old Catholic church in Cerrillos.

So, even though "the mind is a bad room-mate," I have other room-mates that bring much delight.

Musing #2

Facebook is usually banal, and the connections I make there are often trivial, but it is a window onto many worlds that I find interesting, invigorating, thought-provoking.  I know that my daily haiku-sometimes-mit-photo is none of those....it's more of a journal....but it's worth it to find out what other people are doing or thinking.  Living on my mountain, I am in touch with the weather and the local wildlife, but not much else.  Of course, I could just lurk and not post, but it seems if you don't post, your lurking misses out on certain posts, and people don't send things directly to you.  In other words, you are not part of the conversation. For example, Deb, who is not a friend but a person I admire who let me "friend" her, "liked" the Anne Lamott post, and her "like" appeared on my timeline because she has "liked" some of my haiku and, voila!  my mind is expanded.

Bonus:  Anne quotes a Rumi poem.  Don't we all like Rumi?  Don't we all want to think like Rumi?

Musing #3
I want to spend more of my time experiencing, and less of it ruminating.

Slower paced living

I am so lucky.  Today we are snowed in on our mountain, and everything we needed to do (individually and collectively) has been cancelled:  no school for C, no rehearsal for me, no flight in for M.  I check in with my city friends, and they are all fussing about snow plows and icy roads and closed highways.  The folks at East Mountain Library are Shoveling. The. Parking. Lot.  I don't have to worry about any of it.

That's one of the perks of being a 24/7 caregiver.  I don't have to go anywhere if I don't want to, and the only thing I have to do is keep the house warm and the food cooked.  Granted, it's a little problematic right now in the house, since we only have radiant floor heat.  The wood-burning stove is still an unfinished project, and somehow the solar heat doesn't work when there's no sun.

However, there is the casita next door, complete with full kitchen and wood stove.  So, I shovel the walks (which promptly needs re-shoveling), bundle up my friend, and install her with her book by the stove.

Then, I settle into some solid baking.  I start out with gingersnaps.  I find an Alton Brown recipe online, and recall that S swears by AB.  So, I give it a shot.

All I can say is, AB must be cooking at sea level.

However, messy and gooey as the cookies are (before I add more flour), they are quite tasty.  I approve of the addition of cardamom to the spices.  And, I have to confess that, not having a kitchen scale, I have to use the conversion formulas and cup measurements.  AB is into ounces, not cups.  I don't know why it would matter, but Gluten-Free Girl is also adamant that weight is the way to go, so there's probably some science behind it.  I don't want to blame AB and the altitude too much.

Once I am in the rhythm of cookie baking, I put together the fixings for granola, courtesy of the Tassajara Bread Book.  Since I am going to be using the cookie sheet (we only have one) for the granola, it gets set aside, once mixed.

Then, the lentil stew.  That recipe is in the Moosewood Cookbook.  Simmer rinsed lentils in stock for 4 hours.  Then saute garlic, onion, celery, carrots in butter.  Add to the lentils and simmer for another hour or so.

All I can say is, Moosewood cooks must ALSO have been working at sea level.

The 3 cups of lentils soak up the 7 cups of stock in one hour flat, and I'm adding liquid every half hour after that.  I add the saute mix after 2 hours, and turn the whole darn thing off after another hour.  A half hour before dinner I'll turn it back on and add the tomatoes and wine and spices.

Time to add another log to the fire and re-shovel the walk.  Now what?   Hmm, maybe I should rearrange the spices.  Sheesh, we have 5 containers of cumin.  Cinnamon sticks, whole cardamom and cloves....Ah, mulled wine.

We don't have apple cider to sweeten the pot, but, for future reference, Triple Sec does just fine.

And now the sun has come out, so I may try for a little sunset walk.  Forget practising, it's a snow day!

Travel kvetch

Traveling is so different now.  I don't really care when I get there, so the lines are not the issue.  What is the issue?  The quality of the wait.  I could swear everyone is a little grubbier, amenities are less amenable.  You pay for every little thing (fortunately not bathrooms. Yet.) My fellow passengers are  more Greyhound, less Orient Express.  The PA features a friendly male voice asking us to help the police officers keep us safe by reporting suspicious things.

What is suspicious?  The plastic bottle under my chair?  The bags?

However, I'm engaging in the usual rosy-tinted nostalgia.  Travel was ever problematic.  I remember on my first flight to Europe, I huddled under a blanket, trying to escape the cigarette smoke.  So, some things have improved in the last 30 years.  And, some things have stayed the same.  For example, on my way to PDX, I sent this message into the ether:  "As per usual, the Denver airport's evil spirits are alive and kicking! Flight delayed, no place to sit, echoing grayness. I have never gotten through this airport without some hitch."

Still, I'm going to look into train travel on my next trip.  Pooh on this airplane stuff.  And I mean it!

Sad snowballs

I'm back on my mountain, after a 10-day break visiting family and friends and trying to take care of some business.  I didn't see everyone I wanted to see, but I was energized and happy, and the weather was gorgeous.  Reactions to my current life fell into one of three camps.

1.  "Are you crazy?"  Move back here, live in my basement, get a job with benefits!  We miss you.

It seems black and white
But if you look more closely
It's complicated.

2.  "This is a good thing for you, an opportunity for growth."  Your health seems improved, and all the stuff back here is your past:  look to the future.  Stay in New Mexico for awhile.

3. "Hmmmm."  (nodded head, non-committal expression.)

Camp Number 3 is probably allied to Camp Number 1, actually.

It's interesting how my moods are swinging since my return. Mainly, I am just going through the day. At the end of it I am exhausted, but I find myself waking in the middle of the night.  I go outside and check out the stars:  where's Orion, is there a meteor, is there a cloud cover?  Later in the cycle, I watch the sunrise.

But I'm not thinking, or at least, not consciously. So I don't feel like I'm growing or, even at the very minimum, processing.

A year ago at this time, I left D. And I had several local friends help me through that. Most of them are no longer friends, and I wonder what I did to drive them away. It makes me sad, and I feel like a user....I accepted the help assuming I could repay it some time, as friends do, but now I can't. T said that in a year I wouldn't recognize myself.  He's right, but he's also not around to enjoy it.

Complementary:
Dark, light, hard, soft, firm, molded.
But we can't be friends

Now, I know that I am so much better off than I was a year ago, but I still feel numbed. And sad. I don't worry that I made the wrong choice, but I don't know where to go from here.  And various people and events are conspiring to make me recognize how much I'm flailing.  For example....

Yesterday I took E on a studio tour through La Cienega. En route she asked me if I have any plans for my future..am I going to get training or go to school? What is my career goal? It took me aback, because I'm not planning to have a career per se, and I don't have a goal yet. Should I?

I finally remembered that she thinks I am WAY younger than I am, and she also doesn't remember that this is a permanent situation for her at least...she's not going back to Oakland.

But I was still unsettled by her questions.  One of the aspects of dementia is that she will say whatever is in her mind.  It gives me pause:  how much of what she says is being thought by other people?  Why am I not thinking of these things myself? What are my plans? Being middle-aged doesn't mean I can potter around without a goal.

Which is why I spent the afternoon's walk channeling Andy Goldsworthy. It helped improve my mood a bit, at least.

When faced with mud trails,
Don't walk them. Make snow sculptures
And take their pictures.