Buying a Car, Church, and Peter Frampton 1/22/14

 I wrote about doing things alone back in August, when I bought my youngest, Maddy, her car.  I told about having to make big decisions alone and how difficult that is, but also how I think I have made the right decisions and been wise and smart and all that I expect myself to be, based on what Scott and I used to be together.  I bought Mallory a car in November, and did more research, was very prepared, and had Meiling go with me.  Safety in numbers, and she's a great negotiator.  Plus, she can always make me laugh when the stress starts attacking.  Now, it was my turn for a car.  I traded 'my' GMC in on Mallory's car.  I've been driving that little, eleven-year-old BMW for a few months now.  I also had a Jetta in the garage, since Mallory brought it home from Lubbock and took her new one back.  Unfortunately, the Jetta wouldn't start. I changed the battery, it still wouldn't start.  I had my mechanic (great guy, ask me if you need one..) come to the house to check it - he thought it was the fuel pump, and it had to be towed.  I was trying to wait for it to be fixed so I could purchase my new one and trade both in.....but the Jetta had other ideas.  Its computer is broken, so it had to be towed from my mechanic's to the VW dealership, where I will spend a load of money on the computer, only to turn around and sell it later.  That is why none of the new cars are VWs.

I decided I wanted a Mitsubishi Outlander for several reasons:  good safety rating, great mileage, seven seats and price.  I took last Tuesday off of work to do several things (besides the fact that Scott and I had our first date ever on January 14th...and I didn't want to be at work!) including actually test-driving the car my mind had chosen.  Meiling went with me and we headed to the closest dealership, Hub Mitsubishi.  We walked around a couple of minutes, just looking at the one in the showroom (the super-duper model that I couldn't afford), and finally, a salesman came over to speak to us.  His name was George, and he had a quite heavy accent of some type.  He was friendly, though, and showed me exactly what I asked for, a 2011 Outlander.  In taking a look before driving, I discovered that the third row seat (in Meiling's words) was like a bad lawn chair.  I drove the car, and only thought it was okay.  Then he pulled the typical trick - "What about a new one?"  The new model had an upgraded third seat, and some other nice options, and was only a bit more, he said.  I drove a new one and was suitably impressed.  (I had looked at the new ones online, so it wasn't as if I was being coerced, it was an underlying idea of mine anyway.)  We went back in and told him what kinds of cars I had to trade.  They came back with some lower-than-made-me-happy numbers, but they hadn't seen them, either. (This is when I thought the Jetta would be fixed in a day.) So I waited to see what the price on the car was, then what deals were available. Around this time, a Peter Frampton song came on the radio.  I told Meilng "It's a sign!" (Peter Frampton being my number one favorite artist of all time...) We laughed about that.  Somewhere along the way, my question "what does the car cost?" got lost in translation.  After about 45 minutes of hard-to-understand conversation, George got the point that I didn't know the original price of the car.  He then wrote a price down, saying that was the deal I could have.  We left, and wiped our foreheads with exhaustion.  It was hard to understand!  He didn't hear what I was asking!  One reason after another that it had been a very tiring afternoon.

Between Tuesday and Saturday, I found out that the Jetta was not cooperating on getting repaired, so I decided: I would get it fixed and not trade it.  I would trade the BMW only and go to a different dealership where hopefully I would get more on my trade-in and understand the salesperson.  As it turns out, four hours of our Saturday were wasted at Gillman Mitsubishi.  I ended up sending a letter to all the executives listed on their website, as well as the national office.  It describes how they treated us on that Saturday. The transcript is below, in italics, if you're really bored or want to see how to shame a company.  That letter is the start of the story - here is the rest of the story.

We ran away from Gillman and went to Cracker Barrel for some comfort food.  Knowing the number that George had given me last Tuesday, I called him.  "George, I like the price you gave me.  If you can give me at least xxxx dollars on my trade, the deal is yours."  Of course, he said he'd have to see the trade, but please, come right in, we're open until 9.  We drove straight there before I could lose my nerve.

Hub Mitsubishi welcomed us with open arms and big smiles.  George was so happy we came back, and for some reason,easier to understand.  He put me in the computer, and told a joke. He got the information on my trade, and told a joke.  I was nervous!  Would they meet my demand?  When he came back with the amount, he acted like a ringmaster flourishing a new act.  No wonder he was proud!  They offered two hundred dollars over my demand!  Who does that?  (Not Gillman, that's for sure!)  In all the time it took to pull the color car I wanted from inventory and fill out paperwork, George told a few more jokes and entertained Riley with some drawing puzzles.  I looked at him and said "You should be a teacher, George, you're so good with little ones!"  He looked back at all of us and said "You want to know my real story?  I am a dentist.  I come to USA from Syria many years ago, I am dentist, my wife is pharmacist. I had to take more training to be dentist here.  I passed all training perfectly.  When time came for my written test, I looked at it and it looked like nothing I could understand.  I could not read it.  My memory disappeared.  I tried several times, I got medical care, MRIs, big medical bills, I could never pass test.  I finally stay at home four years.  Four years I sit on couch and watch TV.  They never find out what is wrong.  My memory sometimes is gone, sometimes is OK.  Finally after four years, I decide I will do something.   I start to sell cars.  Here, I show you, I am top Mitsubishi salesman the last two months.  They shook my hand and gave me one hundred dollars.  Hmph."

Talk about church falling right in our laps.....I was willing to overlook this man earlier in the week just because he had a strong accent.  He turned out to have more schooling than I do, and has overcome unknown challenges that nobody can understand.  His entire nature and demeanor is positive and fun-loving. I felt as if I were picked up by invisible hands and carried back to buy my car from George. His challenges? Met, head on.  His attitude?  Fun.  Just fun.  As the author of the Momastery blog would say:  Church, y'all.

We took a drive in the actual car with George - just to make sure and to fill it with gas for me.  Peter Frampton came on the radio.

Dear Gillman Companies,

I would like to take this opportunity to describe to you my personal situation and my recent experience at one of your dealerships: Gillman Mitsubishi.  As business owners, I would think that you would appreciate some honest feedback from a neutral source. 

I am a fifty-one year old widow.  My husband passed away in May, 2013. He left me and our two daughters well provided for, and for that I am very grateful, but I am also faced with the challenge of being wise with my expenditures and investments.  I am a school teacher in Cypress Fairbanks ISD, and my daughters both attend Texas Tech University in Lubbock, TX.  My late husband was a hydrographic surveyor, but was also quite handy at repairing vehicles.  For that reason, we all drove vehicles that were around ten years old.  Once he died, I knew that I needed to upgrade all of our vehicles to newer models for safety and the peace of mind that comes with a warranty.  I bought my youngest a 2012 Nissan in August 2013, my oldest a 2012 Honda in November 2013, and was finally looking for a vehicle for myself last week. 

I was looking for a seven-seat SUV, and started researching online.  The Mitsubishi Outlander kept popping up in surveys and safety ratings.  I was going to look for a 2012 model, same as my daughters, and within my remaining budget.  I took the day off work on Tuesday, January 14, to go look and test drive that vehicle at Hub Mitsubishi.  I discovered that the third row seat on the older models was similar to a bad lawn chair, but upgraded on the new 2014 models.  I was just on a discovery visit, but figured that I could possibly afford the SE model in a 2014 Outlander.  I was a little frustrated, though, by the heavy accent of the salesperson.  Although very friendly and polite, I didn’t feel obligated to purchase from them, but I did leave with a definite quote, in writing, on the model I was eying.

I decided to visit Gillman Mitsubishi on Saturday, January 18, in hopes of an easier and possibly better experience.  Here is my honest account of my four hours at your dealership.  I brought along my friend and her ten-year-old daughter for support.  We were approached soon after getting out of my car by a salesman named Youssef. He seemed a polite, well-spoken older gentleman.  I told him what I was looking for, and asked the difference (which I did not know at the time) between the SE and ES trim models.  He then took us inside while he tried to find the answer, telling us that he was brand new with Mitsubishis, and please bear with him.  I kept trying to explain that I was hoping to price an SE model with the sunroof, leather seats and premium sound, but did not know if that made it an ES model.  He had to check with a manager named Walter, who introduced himself, and, I believe, helped Youssef locate a car for me to test drive.  It had none of the options I had mentioned, and nobody had explained to me yet whether an SE could come with those options.  The vehicle they brought around for me to drive had a sticker price of around $24,000.  I knew about the $1500 rebate until the end of January, and it had a big red tag hanging from the mirror that said “Red Tag Special” (printed) followed by “After all discounts and rebates” (hand written) then “3600 off”.  Knowing that this would bring it into my budget range, I finally agreed to give up on asking for the sunroof, etc. model and test drive this one.  Youssef told me flat out to stay on the feeder road, make the U-turn and come back on the feeder.  There was no chance to drive it on the highway itself.  When we finished driving, we did walk the lot to see the sunroof model, but by that time I had talked myself out of splurging on that cost, an easier decision to make once I saw the leather was the sporty type with the holes, and no elegant smooth leather was available.  That being decided, we went inside to check my trade-in and price the new car.  Two hours had now passed. 

Youssef started asking me questions for a form he had about where I was going to drive the car, how many miles a year I thought I would drive….ridiculous-type questions that he said were on a company survey, even if I were paying cash. (We thought they were the questions for leasing a vehicle.)  In the meantime, the ten-year-old was starting to get hungry.  She had not had lunch, as it was a weekend and she had a late breakfast.  My friend went to look for the vending machine.  They both came and sat down dejectedly a few minutes later.  The vending machine was empty.

We finally got to the point where I said “Let’s see what you will offer for my trade-in, and I’ll consider a purchase.” Between Youssef taking my answers to fill out yet another form, him going into the manager’s window and standing at the counter, walking back to ask ‘one more question’ about the trade vehicle, another hour passed.  During that hour, someone came in the front of the showroom with bags and bags of Whataburger – your staff’s lunch.  I would not deny any working person their lunch, but surely there must be a back door, or a workroom where such things can be accomplished.  Even the service people were coming up to the glass room at the front of the showroom to get their lunches. With the Whataburger smell egging on the little one’s hunger, my friend ended up walking to the dealership next door and purchasing some snacks from their vending machine. 

When I got the final offer on my trade-in, I was insulted.  However, that is not my complaint in this letter.  I will tell you that I received $1200 more for that vehicle from the dealership where I finally made my purchase.  With that final offer at Gillman, Youssef put the numbers on paper.  The sticker price PLUS 1495 for etching. I said I didn’t want that.  He said Gillman adds that to all of its vehicles before they go on the lot.  He then subtracted the $3600 on the tag.  I asked where the $1500 rebate was.  He said that it was included in the $3600.  I claimed that the tag said the $3600 was taken off after all rebates and incentives.  He went and spent another twenty minutes in the glass manager’s office.  Finally, the rudest man of all, a manager named Cesar, came and sat down with the sticker from the vehicle and the red tag. He confronted me with an arrogant manner, not polite at all.  He showed me on the price sticker the price – and on the next line the $1495 etching fee.  No total was shown.  He said it was fairly represented and asked if Youssef had told me about it. I said no, and that I didn’t want that option.  He simply said that was too bad because it’s impossible, all the vehicles have it.  Then he laid the red tag on the table. A picture of the tag is enclosed for your reference.  The tag clearly stated that the $3600 would come off the price after all rebates and incentives.  Cesar reacted as if I were stupid and could not read the tag.  I must admit at that point I told him he needed to go back to school.  I stood my ground, and asked for them to also take the rebate off the price.  Youssef went and stood in the glass window for another session, after which he came and handed me my insurance card and the key to my trade-in and said “I’m sorry we can’t help you” thus ended my four-hour ordeal at Gillman Mitsubishi. 

In all, I would have to rank my experience at Gillman at the top of the worst business dealings that I have had to endure since being widowed eight months ago. I sat for 3 1/2 hours without being offered water, encountered person after person that either could not answer my questions or made no effort to concede or apologize that perhaps they could have gotten something wrong or that I ‘caught’ them in trying to trick me into spending too much money.  Your upper management may have won all sorts of awards, but if you don’t sell a product with politeness and precision, your reputation will soon sink you.  I believe this holds even truer when a widow is looking to spend cash of that amount out of her husband’s life insurance.  Thank you for listening to my experience.  I hope you can find a way to take my words into account and make things more polite and fair for future customers – which will never include me.

Sincerely,

Diane McCarty

From MTAI to PDAS: M&Ms, Zombies and Mice

The year, I believe, was 1987.  All teachers in Mississippi now had to be evaluated according to state standards.  "MTAI" was the acronym of the year, Mississippi Teacher Appraisal Instrument.  All teachers now had to be officially assessed, according to guidelines set out by the state. These guidelines included several different areas, or "domains" in which a score was given.  We were carefully trained (made to sit through hours of meetings....), so there would be no way we could score badly.  We chose a class period, turned in a lesson plan - in the hand-written lesson plan book with the carbon copy pages - had a meeting to discuss the plan, and then the day came.  The principal had to stay thirty minutes.  They watched and checked everything. I remember leaving the lesson plan on my desk with a pack of M&Ms, as if chocolate could make anything I did wrong disappear!  I was, and still am, quite good at putting on a show, so it went very well, high scores all around.  But in between the observation and the actual knowledge of the scores, my brain told me everything I did was wrong.  "Uh-oh, you accidentally started the wrong song on the record the first time."  "You shouldn't have given that Mean Look, maybe that brought the score down."  "WHY OH WHY did that kid have to do a total snot-sneeze in the middle of the lesson?"  I am my own worst critic, and almost every teacher I know is the same way. 

Evaluations have evolved, and still exist in every state. They are a federal requirement. Remember "No Child Left Behind"?  It required every state to evaluate their teachers yearly.  Everybody likes to think that a "bad" teacher would get a poor evaluation, and poof! - disappear.  It doesn't happen that way, though. The evaluations sound harsh, but if you don' score well, you're given many opportunities to fix it. 

Flash forward 26 years to this past Friday.  I was not 'officially' evaluated.  First of all, after so many years in Texas, you move to an advanced level that just requires three "drop-ins" a year.  Each drop-in is about ten minutes.  Secondly, drop-ins haven't started yet this year.  However, the district has added something called "mega-monitoring".  We've been told what they look for when they mega us, but we've not seen any feedback, or been told how the statistics will be used.  All I know is that they enter the classroom when a lesson is in full bloom, stand there and look around while playing on their phones.  Ok, that's exaggeration - because we are aware that they are checking a checklist of the required items on their phones.  (I wonder if the district pays for the administration's Iphones???)  About three to five minutes, and whoever mega'd you is gone. This past Friday, I had the illustrious experience of being mega-monitored twice in thirty minutes.  The first time, it was the main boss.  In she comes, while we're singing "Zombie Style" (a lovely parody of "Gangnam Style).  I was scared to death.  Schools are not very open about celebrating Halloween these days.  I personally choose the attitude that I don't do anything scary, only fun.  "Zombie Style" is fun!  Quickly, when the song ended, I called the class' attention to the vocabulary word 'parody', already written on the board.  Quick thinking.  In a flash, she was gone.  The class sang a few more songs that they got to choose.  I call it "Fun Song Friday", and it's one of my ways to foster a singing student body.  They can choose ANY song!  So when the assistant main boss walked in, the kids were singing "Mousie In the Snow".  It's definitely a Christmas song.  And it's early October.  Every child singing, smiling, doing motions.....did that count?  I went with my mental defenses and told myself not to worry. 

I didn't worry - until the students were gone and it was my lunch.  Then I started thinking.  (Oh no, not again.....) Why did I tell that child that I didn't have to give him a reason for changing some one's seat?  Why were we singing a Christmas song?   Why did I have magazines in a Guinness Stout box sitting on the table?  Why do I teach?  Why don't I answer phones and create spreadsheets somewhere? 

After lunch, there was a nice note in my teacher mailbox from the assistant main boss, telling me how much she had enjoyed her visit and seeing all the smiles on the students' faces.  If she had told me in person, I probably would have said "That's because I gave them the Guinness, haha" very nervously.
It's a good thing that the feedback from the official evaluations is on paper.  I should have three drop-ins this year.  For the past two years, my evaluator(s) did not finish my three by the deadline.  Once again, I took it personally.  I felt that nobody wanted to come see me teach, because they would have to be writing down so many things that go wrong!  Once again, I did well.  I don't know what I worry about, except that I truly care about being a good music teacher.  I made my peace about eight years ago with the fact that I am "just a music teacher".  I decided to be the best one I could be.    I certainly hope, though, that this year's person is able evaluate in a timely manner. Evidently I'm quite awesome, zombies, mice and all.


"Zombie Style" and "Mousie In the Snow" published by Music K-8 Magazine
Plank Road Publishing, Inc.

*I learned that the district does not supply the Iphones for the mega's.  They use their own phones, but the app is free.  Cheapskates.

The Next Section of Road 9/29/13

The weather is changing.  October will be here in a couple of days.  The kids at school will get to sing "October, Rocktober"!  The choir will scurry to learn all the holiday songs that they must know for concerts at the beginning of November.  Another group of second graders will do the cutie-pie Turkey Follies show.  The fourth graders will start work on their Holiday show.  I'll be busy.  But I'm scared that busy won't be enough.

I used to be so excited when October first arrived.  It meant my birthday was only twenty-three days away, then Halloween, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas!!  Zoom, the holiday season started rolling on October first and never stopped.  That's why I'm scared.  The beginning of Autumn through the chill of Christmas and the New Year is one long holiday.  Yes, certain dates are on the calendar for Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's day....but all of us, commercial entities and families, take this season to celebrate.  Non-stop. Food. Decorations.  Parties.  Cards. Gifts.  Travel. Family. Costumes.  Even pet costumes, if you are in my family.  I'm scared that every single day between October first and the back-to-school time in January is going to be a very difficult section of the journey. 

The few cooler days that suggest Autumn in the deep South are invigorating.  "The high today is only going to be eighty-eight!!" You hear it all around.  Everyone switches from cool clothes in summer colors to cool clothes in Fall colors.  Any Autumn weekend where people wake up to cooler temps for a few hours of the day finds them running off to the farmer's market or an Oktoberfest in some community.  We grab at any hint of a break from the heat and call it Autumn.  Never mind how much you're going to sweat at that festival or game.  Fall has arrived!  I always felt the excitement just like everyone else.  But I'm starting to understand why holidays are huge mountains to be scaled on the road of grief.

I'm trying to prepare my mind and emotions.  That's what I do, that's how I've been handling things.  I remind myself that certain days/occasions/tasks are going to be more difficult.  I then carry on through those things by allowing the memories and thoughts, giving them a minute and trying to move on.  I carry tissues in case I don't move on too quickly.  I surround myself with people.  I go different places.  I have started to do different things when home alone.   He used to have the television on during every waking hour.  I choose music.  I'm kind of tweaking life to sidestep sadness.  I don't think it's a cop out, because the sadness still gets in there a lot of the time.

I also have a lot of help in handling things. My beloved girls will be home for the holidays, and they are the best medicine for anything, as well as the ones that share my feelings.  Besides being a good friend, Meiling is the one that checks on me daily and watches for any sign that I need time, an ear, a shoulder, or Mexican food.  Thank you my friend for being such a good "keeper" to me and my zoo, that's why my mom won't let you move away.  Other friends, at work and far away, call and message all the time.  That is still important.  I love it.  Family is forever there.  Mom is always there.  Thank you.  And how precious is it that nephew Zach is flying in for Thanksgiving week?  Just the right tweak can make anticipation not completely sad.

In spite of all the help, I still must travel the holiday season part of the road.  I have read suggestions "just skip Christmas", "celebrate at a hotel", "light a candle for memory".....many ways that people in the same situation have chosen to travel their difficult stretch of the road.  But will any of that change my feelings and memories?  How will I not think, on my birthday, of him giving me the beautiful diamond band last year, and saying "Well, you are fifty, after all."?  How will I not think of him not being here most Thanksgivings, but always getting the turkey leg when he was?  How will I not remember how proud he was of the custom-sized nylon straps he made at the office and brought home to hold the Christmas tree box closed?  We had a life together for twenty-eight years.  It's impossible not to think! 

I will allow the memories.  I will try to move on.  If I can't, I will cry for a while, then move on.  I will appreciate all the family and friends that are there for me.  After the holidays are over, I'll probably go on that site and write my own suggestions for 'surviving the first holiday season without a loved one'.  But I will know that every road has different obstacles.  I'm just preparing for mine.  Since October arrives in two days, I have to put on my helmet and hold on to the rails. Walk with me, cheer me on, give me a cup of water.....the trek has begun.

Scary Movies Aren't As Scary As Life 9/15/13

I just saw "Insidious, Chapter 2".  If you know me, this is not surprising, you know that I love scary movies.  When I saw the original "Insidious", I proclaimed it one of the best scary movies I'd seen in a long time.  I even bought the DVD, which is not a habit of mine, as it is with some people.  Today, I enjoyed the sequel, but not as much as the first.  Is this because it's not quite as good, or because of my reality? 

Scary movies want to make us afraid of ghosts, 'spirits', beings that are stuck in the afterlife because of some evil reason or another.  I happen to know that there is no such thing, and what is left behind is much more difficult to manage simply because we are left alone to handle things.

I sit writing this with a box fan blowing into my 'office', because the air conditioner needs repair.  It's leaking Freon in the attic portion, so they have to replace all those workings.  I have reserved the pretty penny that it will cost, scheduled the work and requested my day off.  These are all the responsibilities of the sole adult that owns the house.  In one scene of the movie today, the ghost punched the woman in the face.  I might have preferred that horror to the stress and cost of getting the a/c repaired.

This past Friday, I sold the dirt bike that he had left sitting in the garage.  I knew what he had paid for it, and ended up taking a bit less, just to get rid of it.  I didn't envision him sitting on it, or trying to start it - like the movie with its visions of a person long gone sitting on the bed.  I just saw the bike, the space it's been taking up in the garage, the hope I had that it would start for the potential buyers after four months, and the dust and cobwebs that clung to it.  Start it finally did, and after the exchange of cash, the bike was theirs.  Of course, I typed out a receipt, one for them, one for me, because I could hear him saying "Make sure you give a receipt, I've see too many 'People's Court' episodes where stupid people didn't get anything in writing....." All right, I didn't envision anything, but boy, could I hear his words in my brain.  That's not scary, though. That is comforting.

I am one person at home now - with three cars to choose from.  I do intend to sell them and upgrade to something newer, and therefore (in theory) more dependable. One needs a new water pump, knock sensor, and catalytic converter.  One just got a new water pump, but has a funny clank that I can't get it to make for the mechanic.  The third is in decent shape, it's just ten years old! Now, I'll admit, we've been very spoiled as far a vehicles go - Scott could fix almost anything, therefore we got older, but more top-of the-line when we purchased.  Having to sell and buy cars by myself is more of a nightmare than seeing a shadow face in the window.  That's scary, but only for a minute.  My fears these days are eroding me like water did the Grand Canyon.

Sometimes, there's just sadness.  In the movie today, there was someone that was extremely mean and evil toward a child.  Sadness.  My heart breaks and prays for mistreated children on a daily basis.  In my house today, I called little Marylebone, the Scottie, up to sit with me for a bit.  I scratched him, then stopped.......he nosed my hand up for more.  After a good five-minute scratching session, I realized that his dad is gone, his girls are gone, and I'm the only one left to pet a scratch him on a daily basis.  I will say every now and then, I get help with this from my favorite fifth-grader Riley.  Still, the thought that anyone, even the creatures, would not get enough attention from me because of all the responsibilities I now have is just plain sad.

Then again, there is the example of Riley.  We took her to the scary movie today.  Her mom carefully scanned the reviews and deemed it appropriate.  We promised her she could sit between us.  As it came time to go in, her nerves almost seemed to get the better of her - slowing her step and clutching her tummy.  We encouraged and joked and promised that it wouldn't be that bad.  She got settled, legs tucked up so she could turn and hide her face in her mom's arm, and the movie started.  After a few 'jumps' and 'scares', her reaction turned from hiding her face to laughing nervously.  It was very cute, her mom and I are famous for laughing in scary or serious movies, we find it takes away the intensity.  Ok, maybe we annoy some people around us, but it can't be helped!  Riley's laughter under stress was a reminder to me. The things I have going on at present may be scary, sad, stressful....but there's usually a little laughter in each day.  And after a good laugh, you take a deep breath....and just keep going. Remember how I said Riley was nervous going in to the movie?  On the way out, she was practically bouncing as she walked, and said "I'm so glad I went to see that!"  I hope I can take things in stride like that and keep going.  What an example.  Take that, scary stuff.

Only One First 8/12/13

We drove about 800 miles this summer with a kitten in the car.  My sister found her abandoned in Florida while we were visiting.  My girls had planned on adopting a kitten for their college apartment.  It was a match made in heaven.  "Isis", of the long tail. pointy ears, and pointy nose, has been walking, running, leaping joy in our house this summer.  Joy helps put a little ointment on grief occasionally, so I think it was meant to be.   Isis was a tiny baby kitten during this car trip, six weeks old at the most.  We all cooed and baby-talked to her.  Near the end of the trip, Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" came on the radio.  I said "Awwww, it's Isis' first Bohemian Rhapsody.".  We laughed - every tiny thing that happened to that new little creature could be a "first". 

I, on the other hand, am not young, cute, new, or full of joy.  Yet my new situation, I learned this weekend, will hold a lot of  'firsts'.  And nobody will say "Awwwww!"  These firsts for me are difficult, as they are the first time I will handle a situation without the amazing wisdom and insight of the man I trusted with my life.  I am brave, and I like to think that a little of his wisdom and insight rubbed off on me during our years together.  I research and calculate and figure and plan.  The only problem is......there's no ratings, research, or math that can measure emotional cost. 

My first this past weekend was buying a car for my daughter.  We need to upgrade all of our older vehicles, as the person that could repair them and keep them running for us is gone.  With my girls driving to college five hundred miles away, I need them in dependable cars.  We had sacrificed a lot of dependability with no qualms about doing so, as Scott enjoyed keeping the cars running and could perform 95% of all repairs.  Since that resource is no longer available, I have to step up and make sure all three of us are in good shape in the automotive department.  With four cars to sell to upgrade three people, I saw it as an easy task.

It is easy to find ratings and rankings on vehicle dependability.  It is easy to find the "right" price that you should pay.  It is easy for my youngest daughter to be very specific about what she does - and doesn't- want in a vehicle. Then, to make it easier, I do have a very dear friend in the car business.  They still made a profit on me, but I felt comfortable with the margin. I did have to make a trip to the location where my friend worked, but it was a bonus to spend a weekend with another very dear friend. 

I was prepared. Money, insurance, proof of id, extra driver, (lots of dear friends helped with this enterprise!), a pen to sign my name over and over, and my phone fully charged to check Facebook and crush some candies. Dear friends dropped me at the dealership, where I got to work.  It should be a breeze, right?  I had already done all the research!  First things first, I had to inspect it (having chosen it online), and then drive it.  The sensibility of doing these things before signing and paying made total sense.  I approved the car, gave the green light, and was seated at a desk. 

Thank goodness for the phone!  It evidently takes a long time to get all the paperwork together.  I had to fill out one short form, and then just sit.  I did enjoy the family with two little boys at the next desk.  They were so young, so cute, and didn't care a hoot about the car Mom and Dad were buying!  After so many Facebook checks, and so many tries at a certain level of Candy Crush, I was ushered into a business office.  Then, the next question threw me.

Did I want to add a complete warranty?  (OF COURSE!! THIS IS FOR MY CHILD!!)  It would only cost x amount of dollars to do so, and it's a great idea!  Whoa.........that's x more than the number in my well-planned, well-rehearsed script!  Oh no!  Who can I ask?  I sent mind-messages to the person that would have advised me on this, hoping for some kind of vibe, positive feeling, big red stop sign, anything.....all the while, smiling, frowning and tearing up.  When will I learn to carry tissues?  Thank goodness, dear friend came in (maybe that was the positive sign?) and talked me through the decision, reassured me which choice was best, and I committed.  All by myself. 

That's it!  Write it up!  Pay the total!  Accept the keys and drive my baby's car back to dear friend's house.  That sounds easy.  Only I know that I alternately talked to the sky and sobbed all the way back.  I did manage to have some fun on the weekend trip, but I also took some naps and nursed a headache.  I realized after I performed this great feat that I had done a "first".  It was not fun, and none of the firsts that are yet to come will be either.  The only way to get them to not be a "first" is to do them once.  They may sound the same after that, but at least I will know the huge part of the lesson that I learned this past weekend:  In all the research and preparation, don't forget to count the emotional cost, and prepare for it as well.  It's a bold print-type cost and you can't hide from it. 

Maybe there will be a post on buying the next upgraded vehicle - after I sell a couple to finance that endeavor.  I hope that it will sound and feel pretty much the same, and I'll know what to expect.  You can ask little Isis the kitten if that's true.  You see, on the way home from getting her kitten shots at the vet about a week ago, "Bohemian Rhapsody" came on the radio again. I was just able to turn to that baby kitty and say "'Member this?"  There's only one first, after that I should know all the costs involved, literal or emotional.

If I Could Return This, Please - Another View of Grief 8/2/13

I'd like to return this item, please.  A couple of months ago, I was given this device.  It works by randomly shaking up my emotions and super-intensifying the one it lands on.  I have always been fairly happy and even-tempered with the occasional flare-up of anger or sadness.  It's a smooth path in life, and quite enjoyable.  I did not give it up willingly.  This device, this "grief magnometer", has taken over my thoughts, feelings, opinions, and actions.  It's a dictator with one agenda; to keep me feeling the opposite of how I used to.

Let's talk about sadness.  I have always cried at commercials, animal stories, my own and my family's hurt feelings, and especially when tragedy happened in other families.  It rarely cut me inside with knives like the sadness from the grief magnometer.  This device knows how to read when I am performing a simple task, like putting on makeup, washing dishes, starting the car....and then it attacks.  It uses triggers that I didn't even know existed to bring on the memories, followed by the trembling lip and tears rolling from the eyes.  If I could change the setting, I would have it schedule an appropriate time for sadness and a good cry, then I could carry on with the day.  (Holly Hunter did that brilliantly in a scene from "Broadcast News", by the way.  Check it out.)

The magnometer also knows how to scare me.  I am sensible and smart.  I have made plans to live without my husband's salary.  He loved us so much, and left us in good shape for the future.  But this crazy grief-device unleashes feelings of being afraid if we happen to spend thirty-five dollars on something, or if one of the cars makes a funny noise, or I see a bit of peeling paint out on the porch.  I usually take charge and fix things - fix them myself if I can.  But this new feelings device forces me to sit, stare, shake, cry a bit, (whine a bit) and even talk of giving up.  Thank goodness for family and friends that talk me through these situations and encourage me to be my old self and handle them.  This device is just plain old mean!

Speaking of mean.....that is one word that has never really described me.  I'm sure I had my moments as a young person, but as an adult, I think that I've only been considered to be a 'nice' person.  I like to joke when a new student comes in at the middle of the school year by introducing myself and saying loudly  "......and I'm the meanest teacher here!"  Of course, all the other little ones start saying "No, you're the nicest!"  "You're not mean!"  (If you're insecure, or an attention-hog, I highly recommend being a good elementary music teacher.)  I try to ALWAYS be nice to people.  So, mean feelings surprise me.  Feeling mean is different from feeling angry.  Feeling mean is strange.  The grief magnometer sometimes likes to shake things up and make me feel mean when people are trying to help me.  Not good friends, but people that I might have to call, or have an appointment with - people that have my best interests in mind!  I sit on the phone with them, or drive to my appointment, thinking mean thoughts about them, and concocting mean things I can do to them.  Feeling this way is so unlike me.  This is the main emotion shake-up that makes me so angry.

Oh, anger!!  When I was in college, my roommate took a class called "Death and Dying".  She would share portions of what they learned - it was such a foreign concept to college kids!  They memorized the stages of grief as set forth by Elizabeth Kubler Ross.  I remember Maria telling me the stages, they were novel and interesting at the time.  I understood all of them except anger.  I mean, yes, "you can be angry that someone is gone, but aren't you more sad?" I thought.  My twenty-year-old self thought that.  My present self knows that the anger is the quickest emotion to flare in my state of grief.  Everything triggers anger, because it doesn't matter if the feeling is good or bad to start with, the anger comes around in the form of "Why aren't you here to share this beautiful thing/help me with this difficult thing?" I'm angry at fate, I'm angry at him, I'm angry at the life insurance company, I'm angry at my financial advisor, I'm angry at anyone that expresses a different opinion, I'm angry at the companies that keep sending bills, I'm angry at my fingernails for continuing to grow, I'm angry at the grocery store for not hiding that chili and those hot wings from my eyes, I'm..........angry. Very recently, I went into a yelling, screaming, cursing rage fit.  Ninety minutes later, I was so embarrassed by my own self, I was in tears.  Thank goodness family understands.  I am controlled by this grief device.  I just never know which button it's going to push on which day.

It's too bad that this grief magnometer is a final sale item.  I cannot return it.  The thing it came in to replace is permanently gone, and it is permanently here.  I think I can change some habits and surroundings and learn to live with it, but I wouldn't if I didn't have to.