sunshine0221's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A Guest Entry A Guest Entry My mom received this email from one of the subscribers to her newsletter, and it really touched me. The author�s name is Evelyn, and her email address is [email protected] I too am dependent upon money -- to eat, clothe, give gifts to my family -- pay rent, electric, etc. There is nothing left over for tithes or subscriptions. I steal funds from my grocery allotment and struggle constantly, to keep online with a Frankenstein computer. I am a retired senior who wasn't ready to retire, but again and again and again, employer after employer after employer looked at my slowing body, my face grimacing in pain, and said -- RETIRE NOW!! Every time gasoline prices go up, I drive less. I watch my 23 year old car rust, grow holes, and leak rain into the trunk. I do not repaint it any more or drive it to places I want to go. It appears as though I do not care what it looks like. I cannot afford beauty parlor haircuts. It appears as though I do not care what I look like. Nothing could be much further from the truth. It appears as though I don't like the companionship of men or love to travel. Again, far from the truth. I am a fairly authentic human being, but this existence does not show that. I could just as well exist without a face, for I have to draw one on the front of my head. It is just as well -- I have watched my social life shrivel along with my income. The less I was able to tip, the fewer the helpers appeared. The more pain, the fewer conversations. I do not use drugs, or alcohol, sex or nagging for assistance. Even so, I plead too much. Some think I have a peaceful life, others find me boring -- a good listener, an honest comforter -- a politically incorrect too fat, too old, too liberal -- too needy; a non-supported old woman who doesn't roll over and die, gracefully. No pets are allowed in apartments I rent. God sends squirrels into the tree beyond the patio. God sends occasional robins and blue jays to the grass to gather seed and crumbs. Some evenings, I stand pressed against the car with my back, gazing at what stars may still be seen. I thank God for the breezes, the mixed sounds of ocean waves and highway traffic. People in the distance, sometimes children's voices. I cannot pay dues to join a club or buy paints to create real art. I fall between-the-cracks where assistance programs are concerned. I win poetry contests. Awards on paper: words of commendation. Offers to publish, if I'll pay the printer. Words do not put laundry machines into motion. I look for part-time work. There are no secretaries, anymore. Employers want you to know new computer programs, "multi-task" -- move constantly, and move fast. If you never made a leadership decision in your life, they seem to like that best. Unless, of course, you've got a college degree. (I don't) It's okay if you tend to think and plan and analyze and write your own letters and type your own words, if you ever received a college degree, otherwise, put the coffee on and wash the cups. The certificated grown ups are in the halls. I'm going on 72 and for the life of me, I don't know what God has me waiting around for! It feels like the squeeze on my resources is never going to let up! My grown daughter lives in another town. She has a whole other set of troubles I cannot help with, either. She asks,"What is the meaning of life, Mom? What's the use?" and all I can come up with -- me, a former Sunday School teacher who's always loved Christ -- all I can answer is, "Maybe it all comes down to, What's Good On TV Tonight!?" I thank God the television allows me an off and ON knob. Life, love, a strong sense of personal power offers me less and less time at the controls. I wish you would ask God to speak to this situation. I know I am not alone -- but it feels like nobody knows I exist, and like God has forgotten an awful lot of us along the way. An editor wants to publish me, if I can write something light that'll make readers feel happy. How many times can one describe birdsong and the merriment of squirrels in the backyard, a buffeting wind against which great birds struggle? Thanks for reading. This has been a prayer in disguise. 8:03 p.m. - June 26, 2005 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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