Missing Middle Class

Sometimes this is much harder than we expected.  We actually didn't expect to be so broke and so poor that we'd ever have to make the decisions we are forced to make.  Sometimes its just the little things too.  Things that we took for granted for years.  Things that poverty can't even consider.

I miss wine.  I miss the ritual of opening a bottle of wine, pouring the glass and looking at it, smelling it, tasting it. I miss sitting down at the end of the day with a glass of red wine, and taking time to relax. I miss pairing a nice red wine with a fine dark chocolate and savoring each. I don't suffer from not having wine, but I do miss the peaceful rituals I had with it.  I think that my husband feels the same about craft beer.  I think we both miss the evenings where we had our drink and sat and talked together, having missed one another through the day. We gave both up, having drank our small collections.  Likewise, I miss some of the winter drinks we used to have.  I miss the smell of scotch.  I miss the bottle of honeyed whisky I would indulge in once a year. Obviously, not necessary to life, these things were cut early from our budget. They were just something fine and enjoyable to us.

I miss shopping for housewares.  Not even the buying of housewares, but we've gone so far from middle class that we won't happen across that perfect-something-on-perfect-sale-so-we-should-buy-it item. There is no perfect something to look for no matter how inexpensive it is.  Even free is too expensive at this point.  I looked forward to Bed, Bath and Beyond opening this summer, but its opening coincided with my injury.  So I never had the chance to go look for cheerful, cotton napkins.  And now I'm at the point where new napkins are such a luxury item that shopping for them is akin to looking at brand new Jaguars.  Its completely ridiculous to even consider buying something so extravagant.  But I miss thinking that I should pick up new kitchen hand towels if I find any I like the next time I'm out.

I miss being able to call a repairman or even just replace a faulty item.  Everything seemed to fall apart the moment we no longer could afford the basics. I'm not sure how so many appliances knew that we couldn't afford to fix them, but they must have, since so many things went wrong.  A malfunctioning washer is just highly inconvenient when you can afford to go to the laundromat, or to replace it, but its a heartbreak when you can't afford any other option.

I miss simple things like going out once a week or even once a month.  There is no quick-trip through a drive-thru, or going out for dinner.  Going to the movies, buying new ones, or even renting from RedBox is out of the question.  There is no taking the kids out to try something new, or enjoy something old.  If a much anticipated video that we've had on hold for months doesn't get turned back in to the library, we don't get to see it. Birthdays and Valentine's day are simply days on the calendar.

I miss going to do other things, like fishing, hiking, and taking the dogs out. Sure, these things are free, or otherwise very cheap, but I can't go anymore if I can't walk.

I'm not sure you realize on your way up to middle-class just how much easier life becomes with money.  Sure you realize that life is a lot easier than when you were a young couple, married and just starting out in life, but you don't always notice that money and time have changed you that much.

And I know I'm whining.  But before you roll your eyes at me, think about the little (or big) luxuries that you indulge in.  Is it craft supplies?  Wouldn't you miss being able to sew or knit or scrapbook?  Wouldn't you miss relaxing at the end of the day?  Wouldn't you miss grabbing a quick bite to eat when you were too tired to cook? Or going out on a special date?  Wouldn't you miss being able to have clean, dry clothing and clean dishes?  Wouldn't you miss walking?  If you say no, you aren't being truthful with yourself.

Soda and Compounding Problems

Here is a nice little side effect of not having health insurance:  I use crutches to support myself and to get around as a result of an untreated left knee injury.  When I participated in that Functional Capacity Evaluation (FCE) last week, I injured my right shoulder.  So now, I cannot walk, because the shoulder of the right side, which carries more of the load when I use crutches, is injured.  Without the ability to actually be treated for injuries, I am stuck unable to do anything.  At least the doctor at the free clinic gave me a note so I could stay home for a few days instead of having to attend classes on how to get a job.  Those classes never go over how to get a job when you can't walk or use your arm.  The note protects my children, and thus they still get fresh fruit and vegetables, dairy, meat and grains.

Speaking of food, I've noticed those who wish to limit access to foods they deem unhealthy.  Do I agree that soda is unhealthy?  Of course I do.  But try looking at it this way: when we were middle class we were able to go out once a week as a special family outing.  Once we became poor, we could no longer take the family out to eat, so we switched to making those (fun, but labor intensive) meals at home.  We try to recreate the enjoyment we had as a family eating a special meal.  But does being poor mean that our kids should only be allowed to drink water?  Does it mean that they can't enjoy soda with their homemade pizza?  Does being poor mean that we have to take away all treats from our children so they fully know just what kind of failures their parents have become?  "Sorry kids, not only can you not have dance lessons, or play baseball, or learn how to play the piano, but your great-uncle says that you don't deserve soda or popcorn during family movie night."  Or should I have to explain to my kids, "My old neighbor from Jr. High wants to disallow you having cake for your birthday"?

When you say soda and treats shouldn't be bought with my taxpayer dollars (yes, mine. We've paid taxes for many years.), you are saying that knowledgeable parents who make too little money aren't capable of deciding that their kids can have a treat now and then.  Are there people who think Cheetos are a valuable part of the food pyramid?  Yes.  There are people who don't read nutrition labels.  There are people who consider Dr. Pepper to be a fruit juice.  There are also people who don't plan their menus, making sure that they provide a healthy balanced option that is varied, cost effective, and suits the needs of their family over an average of 450 individual meals for the month. That's not a food stamp problem, that's an education problem.  Getting upset that I buy soda for my kids to enjoy once in a while is silly.  Get upset that we don't provide proper health and nutrition education.  Get upset that we don't have heathcare for people who make $100 too much for medicaid and $1700 too little for ACA.  But don't waste your heartbeats on worrying over poor people buying a soda.  If you want to take it away from the people who chronically make poor choices, you'll be taking it away from those who use food treats sparingly and deliberately.

You notice poor decision makers more often then you notice the people who are being careful.  We all notice that.  Nobody wants to watch a reality tv show about people who make good decisions but get caught in a spiral of compounding difficulties.  People watch reality tv about those who make poor decisions and do stupid things. Since you don't take the time to notice the people who are carefully choosing the best foods that fit their families' needs, you aren't making a fair or well-informed decision, and that makes you purposefully ignorant. How does wallowing in this ignorance while you yell to take soda away from the poor make you the better person?

On Pain, Injury, Intelligence and Other Notions

This week, Vocational Rehabilitation sent me to a Functional Capacity Evaluation (FCE). This may mean nothing to you, and if that is true, you are extremely fortunate.  The FCE is a series of physical assessments that measure your abilities to perform certain tasks.  That didn't sound so bad, so I did no research before I showed up for this evaluation.  I should have.  If you are ever sent for this evaluation, please read up on what you will be doing, and please understand that it is incredibly painful and you will suffer.  You will suffer a lot.  Days later, you will still be suffering... a lot.  You will wonder if you should go to the ER, and if you are like me, you will choose to see how close to death you will go, since you do not have insurance.  If you have insurance, you will choose to go to the ER.  If you do not have insurance, you'll despise everything about the convoluted medical insurance system, but you know you cannot afford to die this week, so you'll take as many pain relievers that you can possibly stomach and hope to get through.  Your heart will feel like giving up.  Your blood pressure will go through the roof.  Your oxygen levels will drop.  If you have an injury like mine, you will regret ever participating in this assessment, as it will make the injury worse.
 
I won't know the results of this evaluation for a while, I suppose.  The Occupational Therapist who administered the tests was kind, and even a bit apologetic.  He did say he was going to strongly recommend intense physical therapy for my problems and he suggested that I see my former surgeon for care.  While I appreciate that he sees the problems I face, I can only shrug at the recommendation to pursue medical care.  I am perpetually amazed at the number of medical professionals and the "welfare" professionals that do not understand the ACA and Medicaid gap. I am beginning to believe that the only people who do understand the gap are those who are in it.

Another joyful little gift from Voc. Rehab. is the job coach.  I understand that the people who serve as job coaches most frequently provide services to those who may be intellectually challenged.  I have a hard time believing that they don't serve those who are only physically challenged though.  With that said, I have no good words for my latest case manager/job coach speaking to me like I am an imbecile.  My joints have nothing to do with my intellectual faculties.  I very much prefer not to be spoken to like a dull-witted child and I cannot think of any reason to patronize any person regardless of the challenges they face.

It seems the further I go down this rabbit-hole, the more I see that the system inherently discourages and hurts, instead of helps those who need it.  I am at the point where if we had a safety net, if we had someplace else to turn, we would.  I never expected to experience this sort of loss of dignity.

"Opportunity"

For those who think that people on welfare don't work, I want to you know that we do.  Not only do the majority of us spend a job's worth of hours every week searching for work, we also have the obligations to fulfill.  I have now found out that if you go long enough spending 40-60 hours a week searching for work and fulfilling your state obligation of attending poor school, you get "offered" work "opportunity" in order to earn your food stamps.  Now, there isn't anything wrong with expecting people to earn their way in this world.  People should earn their way, I'm just wondering how efficient this "opportunity" is when it comes to the work search.

Consider this with me, if I spend forty hours a week searching, researching and applying for employment, plus the 5-10 hours a week that I'm obligated to attend classes or provide other proof that I'm looking for work, how will adding another 5-10 hours of forced volunteerism help?  How will adding another anxiety-obligation actually help me find employment or provide the medical care I need in order to be a fully functioning member of society? (Anxiety-obligation in this case means an obligation that is tied to my children's well-being.  If I do not do this, the state will take away food stamps for my family.) If anything, it ties up more hours that I could continue to devote to this work search.  

Let me see if I can explain something. When you look at the unemployment rate you see its low, leading you to believe that there are actually many jobs available.  But the unemployment rate doesn't take into account the underemployed like my husband, or the unemployed who aren't claiming unemployment insurance payments.  There are a lot of people in the same place as us.  Idaho, and this area, really likes to claim a low unemployment rate, but by doing so they marginalize a significant number of people.  I see a number of people who are participating in poor school who are in this margin. The problem is that there aren't enough jobs for the marginalized and the more recently unemployed.  

The job market is not an employee's market, instead it is still an employer's market.  Many of the jobs I apply for have 50-100 applicants for one entry level position.  Now, lets consider that you are an employer.  There are obviously applications that do not meet your requirements for your position that you have open, and those get tossed.  Then you have the applicants that meet most or all of the job requirements.  You choose anywhere from 2-8 to interview.  If I am among that pool, you may be ok with my qualifications, but you won't be impressed with my physical issues which you will see the moment I walk into the interview. Its been said by more than one case worker that they cannot figure out why I am not employed.  I wonder if they are blind to the fact that I have to use crutches.  

So let's wrap all of this information up into something we can understand.  There are not enough jobs when you consider the number of people who are not being counted by the state as unemployed.  With a huge employee pool, someone who needs accommodations for a physical problem is not going to be the top candidate for any position.  Forcing me to now work for the organization that has failed to help me find work is still not going to help me find a job that will provide money to pay for things like heat, electricity and water.

One More Decision Updated

Its funny and a bit exhausting how life works now.  We have weeks of time where nothing happens and nothing changes.  Then we have times where we are so busy that we end up finally falling into bed in the wee hours of the morning every night.  This week was busy.

We managed to sell the Expedition and ended up buying a 15-year-old minivan.  Its humbling to accept that this isn't just a slump, that its life.  One of the harder parts of this situation is explaining to the kids that we cannot keep a possession that brings us anxiety, no matter how much we enjoyed the item to begin with.  So, even though I wanted to give in and feel sorry for myself over giving up a vehicle I really enjoyed, I had to suck up my disappointment and make it part of the adventure.

How do you make a 15 year old van fun?  A naming ceremony, of course...at least you would hope.  We polled friends and family on Facebook, and talked about nicknames.  All was going well until my princess offered up the moniker of "The Big Rolling Turd."  She is my child most affected by all the changes, and there was no way to assuage the reality of this situation.  I could warn and coach her to be prepared, but I cannot take her feelings away or make her accept this in any way other than her own.

So it is with lukewarm excitement that we christen the minivan "Homer, the Big Rolling Turd."

One More Decision Made

Its a bluegrass morning here, with a cold, heavy fog settling over the neighborhood.  The kids and I have Old Crow Medicine Show, as our seed for Pandora, playing loudly throughout the house.  Sometimes I just need the sound of a laughing banjo to get through the day.

Today doesn't seem quite so desperately lost as so many days have in the recent past.  We've gone for weeks, maybe even months, with diminishing hope and increasing anxiety.  But we've accepted that its better to just take a very low offer on the car and get away from the debt.  If I steel myself, I can even say this is for the best and part of me can be relieved to not have a car.  Of course, there is a part of me that really has enjoyed this vehicle and has taken great pride and joy in driving it.  That part of me is pretty torn up at the thought of getting rid of this car, and accepting one more humbling experience.  But when you are poor, it doesn't matter how much you put down on a car, or how much you have left to pay on it, all that matters is that payment that is due right now.  Of course there is also the part of not having a car.

For better or for worse, we have one more decision made.

Into the New Year

Its early in the morning on the third of January.  New Year's Eve was spent with friends, and the days surrounding it have been enjoyed by the children as time off, ending on the 2nd with the girls returning to working the dogs for 4-H Agility.

I look forward to returning to the home school routine, even though I don't get to enjoy it as much as before.  I'll be adding another case worker to my collection, in my search for work.  Frankly, I'm tired of being forced into this never ending circle of hell:  forced to go to classes on how to find work, forced to answer to people for not finding work every week, forced to point out that I am doing everything that I can to find work, forced to point out that companies don't hire old, broken women.  The daily time I spend at home searching for work doesn't matter.  It only matters that I jump through these hoops.  I sense the frustration of people involved at poor school that my knee is not better and that I have not decided to completely ruin my family by accepting more debt than we could ever pay off.  I'm trying desperately to maintain a sense of ethics, even as I beg for help.

We entered the New Year, not with the same sense of hope and expectation that is marketed and expected, but with a grim sense of imminent disaster.  We can't help but be completely enveloped in a thick, freezing, fog of depression that hides every possible path, and leaves us to grope our way to a certain death.  Its through this that we try to plan a next step, and look in a different direction.

So the turn of the year isn't a jumping point of joy and hope. There is no moment of epiphany, or celebration of possibility, no expectant wondering at what the year holds for us.  It simply is.  I fear, more than I anticipate, what is in store for my family.  So for now, we'll hold onto what we can and stumble through.