What am I missing?

I worked from the age of 16. I paid taxes, paid into social security. I gained skills, increased my income, continued to follow the rules, paying into a program that we have been warned will soon collapse.

I have seen people ‘game’ the system. I see people paid to do nothing. I see people using social security as their ‘fun money’ because they really do not need it. I see very wealthy people, still taking social security as it becomes due because they are due. I see elected officials make laws about our social security that cannot touch them. They pass laws; they do not abide by the same laws as those of us who put them into the position to represent our rights.

Today I learned that I cannot claim disability. I have a brain injury. I have 3 broken places in my back. I have a broken knee, wrist, thumb, and finger. I jammed a leg evacuating an airplane in the 70’s. That leg has caused me problems with my foot, ankle, knee, and hip. I have a broken pelvic bone.

In spite of this, I continued onward. It wasn’t hard. I was young. As I reached my 60’s it became harder. However, I was lucky. I married the man of my dreams. We agreed that I would sell my holdings, pay his debts and we would live on his earnings, which I knew would increase. I had faith and confidence in him.

Now we are divorcing.

Because I stopped working full time, stopped paying individually into the ‘system’, I no longer exist on the social security rolls. I was still working. I was cooking, cleaning, dealing with the kids, shopping, entertaining for his business connections, and keeping everything and everyone organized. In short: I was a stay at home wife. In 2010, that still means I did not work. In 2000, that still meant I did not work. Why? Every time a television program shows a man taking over the job of his wife, for just a few days, he changes forever. He is apologetic, he is apoplectic, and he is ashamed. It is WORK.

I used to say I would love to have a wife. I would love to have someone who would take care of all of the mundane chores, the errands, the cooking, the cleaning, and the crap. Everything I did not want to do would be ‘done’. Yes, a wife would be wonderful.

When I became ‘that’, I balked. It was a very difficult transition. I felt like someone had stamped ‘stupid’ on my forehead. I got little respect and began accepting that as the stupidity of the masses. I was the very same woman who had run a successful business, who kept her own home, who hired, fired, kept payroll and ran accounts. Suddenly, I was just ‘his wife’.

It took me almost a full year to come to terms with being ‘only that’. When I finally did, I began to recognize this was what so many women before me had done and I was lucky someone was willing to let me take care of everything else while he earned the most money. Heaven knows, I could not have earned as much.

Because of that, my social security stopped. Dead. Stopped. And because of that, in spite of the hundreds of thousands of dollars I paid into my account, I cannot use that money now. And now I really need it. I desperately need it. I cannot do what I did before. I cannot process my computer programs any more. I cannot count on getting up in the morning because of the headache that will not let me sleep until 3 or 4 in the morning, night after night. I cannot say I am capable of driving daily without causing harm to someone because my brain just does not understand anymore what I am supposed to do. I choose to stay put, keeping the city safe by my staying off the streets, away from that huge machine that I can still steer, but not necessarily remember the rules that govern.

I cannot be dependable. If I could, I would still run my business. If I were dependable, I would manage to vacuum my house constantly as I used to. If I could, I would not run out of so many things before I realized I needed more. If I could, if I could, if I could. I cannot.

And no help. Nothing. I am too young to draw my social security and I do not have the required credits to draw my disability because our income was lumped together and FICA paid out of the whole. Huge lesson. No wonder people complain about marriage taxes. I had no clue. I merged everything. I have nothing. I paid lots to the system to take care of myself in old age. Well, old age has arrived and it looks grim. Another old lady without income.

The Division of Licensing has been beating me. This has caused me great angst because although they aren’t as official as many agencies, they DO control my ability to operate a vehicle. additionally, many businesses require your driver’s license to identify yourself. As we move toward the obvious, a public identity card, some states have already declared that a driver’s license is not  an identity card. interesting. Nor is your social security card.

I just want to drive.

I went to the license office almost 2 months ago, all geared up to take the written test and get a new license. didn’t work that way at all. they said I just needed to hand in my old license, prove my identity, get my photo taken and I’d be finished. they didn’t even care if I could see. they didn’t care if I knew the driving regulations in their state. Seemed excessively easy.

I had looked at their website, learning what I might need to take along for ID. The website examples are to bring a utility bill in applicant name, to the correct home address. A passport not expired longer than a year. A military ID. A federal employee ID. A current driver’s license from another state. They offer many identity choices. Two very long lists of them. I have never had a problem proving who I am so I did not expect a problem here.

this is something with which few men will identify. my name is Dorothy Alexa Marguerite Conway. society puts women in a spot after they marry. people in quite a few places can actually change a woman’s name, to make their filing system work more easily. when I married, I was 50 years old. I owned several houses in my name, owned my car, was buying another home, in my name, was an officer of the court, in my name, had 4 passports (you know, my name). So, since I already had 4 names, did I want to add a 5th? no, I really did not. my name was so long that no government office or form would accept it as it was. therefore, someone (a typist) would make a decision to shorten my name. think about that. long name. 3 of the names can easily be misspelled. as a result, the typist almost always drops a name. so, I have ID that shows me as Dorothy M Conway, as Alexa M Conway, as DA Conway, as (my favorite) DAM Conway, as Dorothy Alexa Conway. There are more, believe me. So many combinations available. I have too many names. I have never had a problem proving who I am, getting licenses in several states and territories.

This was easy. I went in with my current drivers license. It identifies me as Alexa M Conway Smith. Yep. Smith. Why? Well, because a well-intentioned young lady in Oregon added Smith to my last name, without proof of my identity, without a marriage certificate, without any substantiation that I had increased the size of my name. She recognized my husband, then she just did it. When she handed me my Oregon license, it said smith, behind everything else. I gulped. I was looking for the first time at a name that was foreign to me. My brand new husband was standing next to me, beaming. She was beaming. I was silent, not wanting to hurt him or her. I thanked her and we went on our way. today I would like to have her take that name off of my license. Not just because he is having a very public affair. Not because we are heading toward divorce. Not even because smith is such a common name and it increases the difficulty of my identity. Nope. Just because it was never my choice and because I liked my name just fine and it irks me that a woman is so easily re-identified in this society. She didn’t change HIS name to conway-smith. Only mine. Uh huh. I’m one of those.

So, the license office here did not like it that my name was smith on my license but not on my social security card. Well, duh. I never legally changed my name! but, you know who did? My health insurance company. Someone there just decided that I would be easier to find if my last name was the same as my husband’s. just like that, my records all went to smith. So now, I have to help them find me. Sometimes it’s conway-smith, sometimes it’s smith. We never know. It’s an easter egg hunt. Then, amazingly, my insurance company that handles my auto insurance, my homeowners insurance and my credit card, began to call me conway-smith. Wow. Another ‘somebody’ just decided it was easier. The first time we got our insurance cards, after I added my husband to my accounts, the cards came in my name, with his name listed afterwards. He had a fit. This did not work for him. It was my account. Everything had been mine. I added him to my accounts. Now, he was mad because things came in my name. so, I had to call them, asking that they put his name on things equally. The woman I spoke with completely understood. I explained to my husband that women deal with this all the time and he really should put his ego in check. It wasn’t a big deal. He would have none of it. So, when she put his name onto my accounts, she also changed my name. again, I was stunned. I was also conway-smith.

I am at fault here for not fighting for my identity. But, I married for life. I knew I could handle the little upsets that might come along with the name situation. Now, things are different. I don’t like seeing his name on my things. It hurts. I don’t like the feeling I get, knowing my husband is living with someone who decided my marriage wasn’t as important as her wants. So, I want to be rid of the ‘smith’ stuff. But, that’s a personal issue. Right now, I just want my new driver’s license. This is a fight.

I arrived in the licensing office with the following: my current license, an expired passport (the latest one was in an envelope, headed to salt lake city for renewal), a federally issued photo ID, two bills (utility and trash) mailed to me, at my home address, my auto insurance card and policy, in my name, at my address. Armed for anything, I took a number and waited. They would not accept my ID.

I went back 3 days later, better armed. This time I was carrying 3 passports, including the one that had been in the envelope to be renewed. This office suddenly caused  an urgency I had not experienced in a very long time. I also took my airline ID, federally issued, with my photo. I took my court photo ID, 4 bills, a letter from the IRS written to ME, at my home address, with my social security number, and my full name and they would not accept it.

I went 7 times. By now, the people recognize me by name. but, they won’t accept my ID. finally, I won. They took my photo and sent me on my way, promising my new license would arrive by mail w/in a week. I was happy/sad. Happy to accomplish this, sad because I had long given up on looking good in my photo. The first time I had arrived straight from the hairdresser. Looking as good as was possible for my age. As the visits continued, I began doing less and less about my appearance, knowing that today was not going to be my day.

I decided whatever picture I had was fine. It wasn’t. but, I still felt good about the achievement. That feeling lasted 3 weeks. by then my license was long overdue. I had travelled to Florida to help my aunt Dot, with a flimsy little temporary license that caused much dismay to the airline screeners. Their dismay caused lots of searching on my personal being.

I had no license waiting when I returned. I began to fret. I started calling the licensing division. That’s fun. It’s also fruitless. I scoured their website for information and actually found a link that says contact us here if you have not received your license! What foresight! I ‘clicked’ and wrote. I sent my full name, address, date of application, old license number and state, last 4 digits of my social. 3 days later I got a note back informing me that I needed to send my name, address, last 4 digits, date of application, old license number AND new temp license number. Otherwise, no help for me. Incredible but people NEED jobs and without this time consuming effort on her part, she might not appear to be as employable. I found the last puzzle piece and sent the note back.

She wrote. She did not like my ID. I would not receive my license. Noooooooooooooooooooooo. I wrote again, begging, offering meals, trying to be her friend, trying to learn anything that might help me work through this latest glass ceiling. No good. She finally told me to go to the social security office, change my name, get a new card, then start the process again. Amazing. This is where we live. Amazing. They all know I am really ME. Nobody will make a decision.

So, today I went back. I was fully armed. Now I carry things in a large overstuffed envelope. I learned online that the office has a ‘identification specialist’ who has the authority to make a decision.

I went to one of ‘my people’, asking for the identification specialist. She was very nice. Sorry to learn I had not gotten my license. She was also perplexed that I had actually corresponded with someone who could supposedly help. She questioned me about that frequently. I kept explaining exactly where to find it on THEIR website. I was getting nowhere. Then, I began to cry. Really cry. One year ago, my dad passed away. It’s been on my mind. Maybe that spurred the tears but my frustration level over them refusing something so basic, simply because the person making the decision can ‘choose’ to ignore the obvious, has beaten me down. I need them. they don’t need me. I don’t want to break the law but I WILL drive. I MUST drive. I am alone. I need things. Driving is the answer.

Two men began to eves-drop and move in closer. The customer next to me dug out a Kleenex. By now I was well into the ‘ugly cry’, no stopping me. Two more men, one who had helped me several times, became part of the ‘employee circle’. Everyone is questioning and trying to help. Finally, one man (maybe he was actually the Identification Specialist!) made the decision. I would get a license! I was beyond thrilled. I asked him out for drinks immediately! He had the good sense to ignore me.

So, I am waiting for my new license to appear in the mail. I know what you’re thinking: why would this time be any different? What makes me think it’s actually going to be sent, when that ‘person’ is lying in wait to refuse me? I will tell you exactly why: because they took my picture again, because I looked like shit, because I had not washed my hair or put on make-up, because I had sobbed, let my nose run, and had a horribly red face. Yes, this license will come. This picture will follow me for years. Forget the name, forget the hassle, forget the 8 trips to DOL. It’s all about the picture. I have never looked worse in my life. one guy offered to take me to a beauty parlor across the street to let them ‘try to fix you up’. one of the male employees actually said “alexa, (like we’re good friends), do you have any makeup in your car?” when the  picture guy got ready to take the picture, he looked at me and asked if I needed ‘a minute’. I was crying! I said ‘a minute’ would not do me a bit of good.

This license will arrive. I won!

today is set aside to honor all of our nation’s veterans.

veterans fill my family. my granddaddy served and was very proud to do so. my father served and made it into his chosen career. my brother served, doing two tours in viet nam. he came home a much different man than the one we said good-by to at the airport. he remains proud of his service. I am fortunate to have the coffin flag from granddaddy’s service. I remember very clearly the day it was handed to my grandmother.

my uncles served as well, but not for long. after the war, they all returned home to civilian jobs. my dad is the only one I remember in the immediate family who stayed in. except for my mother.

military families are always in flux. the people who quite often hold the family together are the spouses, the wives. when my father was in the military, women rarely got the opportunity to do more than secretarial work. the wives were sharing the military load at home.

whenever my dad would come in the door to announce we were moving, it meant my mother would have to give notice at her job, immediately and begin to pack, organize and ‘clear quarters’. this is military speak for “be sure there is no evidence that you existed in this home.” there was actually a ‘white glove’ inspection at the home and the wives had best pass it. if not, they had to work until it was exactly as it had been before we moved into the place. the wives bore such a heavy load. the military would immediately relocate the soldier. the wives would pack the whole family, get the kids’ school records, medical records (no computers in those days), find a new house the DAY they arrived at the next city, state, country, register the kids into a new school system and begin unpacking. the dad would come home from work, for dinner. not many women are up to such a task today. they would balk at the system. it’s very one-sided.

we now have women serving in the military, in jobs they actually aspired to and husbands staying home to take care of the children, clear quarters and maintain the home front. interestingly, not many husbands ’stick’.

it’s hard to have your lives controlled by an agency but that’s what you sign up for and that’s what you are required by law to do. you have to be willing to support your military spouse completely because that spouse is required to honor their contract.

the kids yell, scream, threaten, and cry when new orders come in. we would have it no other way. once grown we came to recognize the value of that life. military kids (brats, we are called) can walk into just about any situation given and fit in immediately. they are friendly, natural leaders, better educated, very well rounded, and easy going. we know how lucky we’ve been. when we were in europe, the junior high and high school teachers were mostly professors. the educational standards were very high. we got smart. when I came back to the US, I spoke German fluently and only needed one class to graduate from high school. I was a junior at the time. the next year, in another state, I was speaking German and French and only needed one semester to graduate from that school. compared to US standards, our educations were pretty advanced… as a result; my last two years of school bored me to pieces. there was no challenge.

as many of us did today, I flew my flag. I think a great house-warming gift for anyone is a nice flag and a bracket from which to hang it. I leave mine on every home I move from, hoping it will inspire the next family to fly a flag as I did. as many of us  did today, I thanked vets everywhere as I came into their paths. we owe them so much. they deserve our respect and our support.

it was just today that I really thought again about the sacrifices that my mother made repeatedly during her life. she was completely controlled by an agency because she married my dad. she honored the tradition and did her part. it cost her in many ways but she never complained. my brother and I revel in the stories of our upbringing in various parts of the world. we know we were lucky.

thank you dad for your service to our country. thank you mom for always making it fun to relocate. thank you everyone who has served and let us not forget the issues it causes at home to have a part-time parent sharing the load. In a way, the veterans are everyone of us. we are all in this together.

do you ignore your phone when it rings?

I realized about 30 years ago that just because the phone rang, I did not have to answer it. people visiting me were appalled. I felt justified. I paid for the thing, if I had nobody I particularly needed, why should I interrupt whatever I was doing, to answer the phone? it was a blessing. it gave me time. I loved the lesson.

remember when car phones made the scene? I saw my first one when my mom and I had broken down on a highway. a limo pulled over. the rear window ’slid’ down and a wonderfully dressed man asked if we needed help. he had a phone in his hand, connected to something in the car. he was kind enough to call someone for us. he offered to stay but it was obvious he had somewhere else to be. we were grateful.

as the limo pulled back onto the highway my mom commented on how nice that was. then, she turned to me and said “did you see he had his own phone in that car?” we were both agog. it was 1970.

years later I decided I needed to have a car phone. my job was taking more and more time from me and I was living with a pager. I had also taken a bit of flack from 2 male friends. I had been en-route to a ski area, alone, and took a road less traveled. as I topped a hill, my car got stuck. snow slide. HUGE snow slide. I was in the middle of nowhere. as an ex flight attendant, I began to assess the very real possibility of sleeping in my car. the sun was starting to fade.

my biggest fear was a mountain lion. I knew I’d have to keep my windows closed and wondered if I would get too much stale air. I opened my trunk, got out my BIG swiss army knife ( the emergency one) and extra sweaters, hats and socks. I knew it would get really cold. then, I thought about the possibility of a fire. I assumed someone would be on fire-watch and maybe report the smoke. I got matches and some cotton things that I knew would burn and smoke. then I started looking for kindling. I thought I would build a fire in the center of the dirt road. I would also have snow handy in case it started to get out of hand. I opened the hood of my car, to show distress and wrote a note, saying I was stranded and had gone to find firewood.

I felt pretty empowered. I felt I could take care of myself until I could either dig out or someone found me. at least that was my plan. I was meeting a friend up in the ski area. he knew I was never late so I assumed that would also help. the only bad part was I had taken all of these little dirt roads instead of paved. I was really off the map.

I was returning with my 2nd load of wood when a big pickup came up the hill. god, I was so relieved. a man got out, asked if I was ok. as soon as I said yes, he began cleaning my clock for being in such a remote area, by myself in the winter in a dinky little toyota. his wife got out, chiding him for yelling at me. she explained that they had 3 daughters and he was just being ‘a dad’. I was on the verge of tears. I knew I would live and I knew he was right. I felt the emotion I had surpressed starting to surface. I was about 42 and that was a dumb thing to do in the winter. he had a truck built for such things. he hooked a cable to me and pulled me clear. he told me that the road was ‘down’ the rest of the way and I should be fine.

I reloaded my car. I had not been mauled by a mountain lion. I was safe. I was also about 3 hours late. as I got toward the ski area, my friend passed me on the road. he immediately turned around. we stopped. he asked what had happened. I explained. then HE yelled at me.

blabbermouth that he was, soon everyone knew what I had done. it was agreed: I had to get a car phone. I told my boss. he agreed. he was thrilled that I would be easier to reach. he would even pay for it. super.

when I told my boyfriend (who had a car phone) that I was getting one installed, he told me that once I got used to it, I’d wonder how I had lived so long without it. he was right. I was on that phone all the time. such a time-saver. now, I could do things while I was headed to do something else. now, my secretary could catch up with me before I headed in the wrong direction. nirvana.

(I need to digress: for one thing, the phone would not have worked where I was stuck. no cells. too remote. for another thing, we didn’t all know 20 years ago how dangerous it is to use a phone while you are driving. I learned that lesson later.)

now, we all carry a phone with us.

when I was flying, we started training to fly Hong Kong. we were told to accept the fact that the Chinese would all have personal phones. don’t even bother trying to ask them to turn them off. they live on those phones. it was an absolute fact.

many of us are getting rid of our house phones. I admit that I have mine only for emergencies, when a land-line is necessary but it irks me to pay the outrageous fee. I never answer it. never. I use my cell. so, now I have 2 phones. annoying but I put myself here.

trying to be certain you can reach people the minute you need to is a double-edged sword. now, people can reach YOU. I no longer use the phone when I’m driving. I now ‘duck’ the cell phone as often as I used to duck the house phone. between e-mail (which downloads onto my phone) and people knowing exactly how to reach me, I’ve gotten in over my head. what I had once considered a luxury has become a necessity and a nuisance.

I blame that guy in the limo.

are you the boss?

I was the boss way before I was ready. as a result, I was a very bad boss. how many of us have been the boss we love to hate? I have. I’m not proud. being a bad boss is still embarrassing to me. learning how to be a better boss, then a great boss is something I treasure.

when you are a good boss, you sorta run things in your specific neighborhood. you know you have power but you don’t need to prove that power. you collaborate. you are totally secure. you recognize that you were like the person you are teaching. you recognize that you have learned from someone else. you grow into being a boss. nobody can just ‘tag’ you as a boss. nobody can ‘bless’ you as a boss. you have to earn the boss title. otherwise, everyone around recognizes you are not really a boss. you are afraid and you have someone behind you, making you appear to be the boss. if that is the case, everyone sees that you have little, that you are afraid, that you cannot expect to be respected. you are simply someone ‘put in charge’ by someone else. you are still little.

I’ve mentioned before that I get to live in a magical place. I have wildlife and wonderful trees and flowers. I am fortunate. my mornings are spent on my balcony, watching the birds. my evenings on spent on the balcony, watching the deer.

unfortunately, I have a neighbor with 5 barking dogs. it’s noise. nothing but noise. the owners do not believe their dogs bark. the owners are never home. the dog barking is incessant.

one dog is living on the deck. the other 4 dogs live in pens, at the bottom of the yard. I feel sorry for the guy on the deck. it’s his whole life. he has this little space to defend and protect. the dogs within his reach are in pens. one dog per pen with an igloo to retreat to when needed.

the dog on the deck is the worst offender. he barks nonstop. all day, everyday. the owners do not believe this. how could they think their wonderful pet is a pest? they are never home when this is happening. they have been told the dogs bark and they really refuse to believe it. when they are home, all is quiet.

my belief is that the dog on the deck has so little to protect and control,  he is insecure. he cannot help himself. he has to defend his little deck. it encompasses his entire world, this deck. he has little choice but to prove he can defend it. if he barks enough, the other 4 dogs, in the pens below the deck, join him. then it’s way too loud. naturally the owners never deal with this because they simply do not believe it happens. it never happens when they are home.

what is going on here?

I have a theory.

the dogs only yell and scream when the boss is not here. they feel the need to do that, to protect the boss’ house during his/her absence. they are doing their job, in their opinions. but, they are only dogs. how big should their opinions really be? who is in charge here?

it’s very similar in the workplace. the owner (boss) doesn’t believe the dogs (managers) bark. he or she simply does not want to believe that the dogs (managers) he or she trained so well, would be so raucous. cannot be the truth. everyone else must be complaining due to jealousy or an insecurity of their own. the dogs don’t really bark. people just want to complain for attention and to cause issues for the dogs. and the owners/managers.

so, how do you handle this? the dog cannot really rule his or her domain. he or she is totally insecure about territory. as a result, they bark. they yell at co-workers, at workers under their control. they cannot control because they do not have the skills. they bark. they are afraid. without the boss or the owner, they are powerless. they pretend to be in control by making people afraid of them, if possible. that is their only weapon.

they need to be trained. until they are, they will bark, the dogs will bark and the managers, owners will pretend nothing is wrong. so who really needs to be trained?

I think we all know that answer.

I’m still watching the partridge. actually, they are ‘gambols quail’, but they have that little ‘headdress’ on top of their heads, and that makes me think quail.

it’s so interesting watching the parents. when I glance out the window and see babies, I look for the parents. one will with be with the group. the other is on a high perch, watching for predators. everyone eats, one is on guard for the group. then, the parents switch places. I find this fascinating.

I think most of us expect marriage to be this way. one guards the kids while the other shows them how to live. both jobs are vital to the lives of the family. nobody has the right to diminish one job as less important. they both matter. the parents must be able to depend on each other for the family to survive.

somehow as a country, I think we are forgetting that.

maybe if they saw a predator swoop in and pluck a kid out, the parents would recognize the importance of each job. in the wild when this happens, everyone carries on. I don’t know how long they grieve but I see that they immediately begin making everyone else safe. sadly, when parents and married couples lose someone dear they often self-destruct. instead of pulling together, they pull apart. such a weak stance. Marriage is a dying institution in our country. it is vitally important, yet forgotten by most.

surely we can do better.