Ted Kennedy's death has brought back for all of us the lives and deaths of the members of his family, and the various tragedies suffered by that family.
We all remember where we were when JFK was assassinated, but I also recall how I babysat for a family who claimed they would leave the country if JFK lost the election to Richard Nixon. My parents were staunch Nixon supporters, and I, myself, had been roped into being a Nixonette, so as a young teen, I was pretty skeptical of the Catholic John F. Kennedy. Thank goodness those days are behind me.
Then, I voted for Robert Kennedy in the California primary - my first opportunity to vote in our great democracy, and sitting on the bed in our Stanford high-rise student housing, watched him die at the hands of Sirhan Sirhan in the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. Having come a long way from my days as a Nixonette, I had become a true child of the 60s, believing passionately in the Civil Rights Movement and peace and social justice. It took a long time for me to actually act on the beliefs that had slowly developed through my college years, but the person I have become has been strongly shaped by Kennedy ideals of service to country and working to make a difference in the lives of others. Teaching was the closest I could come to living out those ideas, though the Peace Corps may still await me.
In 1977, I finally had a chance to meet a member of the Kennedy family when Senator Ted Kennedy came to offer the dedication speech at the opening of the Franconia Frost Place. I was the Project Director for the house as a historic museum and organized the summer music and poetry program. I had written all the publicity for the Kennedy visit and the opening of the house; I had been interviewed by Time Magazine and various state newspapers; I couldn't wait for the dedication day to happen.
The day of the dedication was a perfect, hot, New England summer day. The Kennedy entourage, including Ted, Eunice Shriver and three of their children, flew into the Whitefield airport and traveled to the Franconia Town Hall, where my family and I stood on the lawn in what the local paper described as a "throng of 300 people" to hear the various speeches that day. CBS news covered the event, and it was one of the biggest deals to happen in Franconia for a long time. Imagine my devastation when the Chairs of the Frost Place Committee recognized the work of every other person who had worked on that day and on getting the Frost Place ready for opening, and never mentioned my name. I was crushed.
I was, however, all the more determined to meet the Senator. As the ceremony came to an end, I drove hastily to the Frost Place, and planted myself beside the door where I knew the Kennedys would have to enter the house. I had never done anything quite this bold, or pushy. As the group arrived at the Frost Place, sure enough, the Senator led the way down the porch to the screen door where I thrust out my hand and as he shook it, I introduced myself and welcomed him to the Frost home. Did I shake hands with Eunice? I don't remember. I faded back into the woodwork, where I stayed for the rest of the afternoon. I had met the last of the Kennedy brothers.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Whatever can go wrong, usually does
For a week now, my life has started to crumble. Just in small things, and nothing really serious. Last night, though, when the large glass coffee pot tilted out of the dish drainer and smashed on the floor, I stopped to ponder how the infrastructure is failing at my house.
A week ago I brought home a small fan from my mom's apartment which had been turned on for who knows how long, but wasn't actually turning. It was so hot that I'm surprised it hadn't shorted out. In any case, I took it apart, and armed with the housewife's friend, WD-40, I tried to fix it. WRONG! When I put the propeller back on the shaft and pushed a bit to try to seat it, the whole assembly crumbled in my hands. Into the trash with the whole thing.
An hour or so later, I was opening a can of tuna fish to make lunch, and as I was holding down the lever thingie to make the can turn , the lever broke off in my hand. Hmmmm, another broken item.
On Wednesday morning, I was in a hurry to clean the upstairs bathroom before company arrived, and as I scrubbed the top of the soap dish which was grouted into the tile in the NEW bathroom, it fell right off the wall and into the tub. Huh? I called the builder and left a message that I needed an emergency repair. Yeah, right. He did come over, but discovered a crack in a line of grout above the soap dish, and wet grout, made the more so by all the humidity. So - upstairs shower out of commission until the whole area dries, he replaces the bad grout and re-cements the soap dish.
Moving right along, Sun. night comes and I break the coffee pot at about 10:00 p.m. I sew the seam binding on Emily's skirt wrong, and so, it came as no surprise that this morning, a tree service arrived at the house next door and has semi-denuded the landscape between my screen porch and their garage; along the street and alongside the boundary line on the far side of their house. Earlier this week a backhoe came and levelled out the far side of their yard, and then built it up so that water will now all run off into my back yard so they can put a shed over there to put their bikes in.
Ah yes, and my bone density is becoming less dense, and who knows, I may, myself crumble into dust......time to up the calcium and do some weight lifting. I would be happy if the karma around here would shift just the tiniest bit!!
A week ago I brought home a small fan from my mom's apartment which had been turned on for who knows how long, but wasn't actually turning. It was so hot that I'm surprised it hadn't shorted out. In any case, I took it apart, and armed with the housewife's friend, WD-40, I tried to fix it. WRONG! When I put the propeller back on the shaft and pushed a bit to try to seat it, the whole assembly crumbled in my hands. Into the trash with the whole thing.
An hour or so later, I was opening a can of tuna fish to make lunch, and as I was holding down the lever thingie to make the can turn , the lever broke off in my hand. Hmmmm, another broken item.
On Wednesday morning, I was in a hurry to clean the upstairs bathroom before company arrived, and as I scrubbed the top of the soap dish which was grouted into the tile in the NEW bathroom, it fell right off the wall and into the tub. Huh? I called the builder and left a message that I needed an emergency repair. Yeah, right. He did come over, but discovered a crack in a line of grout above the soap dish, and wet grout, made the more so by all the humidity. So - upstairs shower out of commission until the whole area dries, he replaces the bad grout and re-cements the soap dish.
Moving right along, Sun. night comes and I break the coffee pot at about 10:00 p.m. I sew the seam binding on Emily's skirt wrong, and so, it came as no surprise that this morning, a tree service arrived at the house next door and has semi-denuded the landscape between my screen porch and their garage; along the street and alongside the boundary line on the far side of their house. Earlier this week a backhoe came and levelled out the far side of their yard, and then built it up so that water will now all run off into my back yard so they can put a shed over there to put their bikes in.
Ah yes, and my bone density is becoming less dense, and who knows, I may, myself crumble into dust......time to up the calcium and do some weight lifting. I would be happy if the karma around here would shift just the tiniest bit!!
Friday, August 21, 2009
Birthday fun
My favorite yoga teacher always ends class by saying "Remember that every day you have something to be grateful for." For those readers who know me, you know that the past few years have been difficult for me, not just because of dealing with Langdon Place and my aging parents, but because my immediate family members have had lots of issues with each other for which I have been smack in the middle.
This summer marks a turning point in family relationships, and I just want to go on record that we have now had two family birthday celebrations which have not caused me to be in high anxiety or wishing I could be somewhere else (like in witness protection).
Last night Todd hosted a small family birthday party for Emily who turns 9 on Saturday. Sarah was able to come, but sadly Ben had to work late. There were just the five of us, and Todd grilled portobello mushrooms with mozzarella and tomato slices (Emily's request) and he made potato salad and I provided green beans out of my garden. The piece de resistance was the birthday cake made by Todd. It was delicious, and he had taken pains to frost it, put colored sprinkles all over it, along with pastel colored m & m's and most impressively, pink "roses" made out of frosting which he had created with a cake decorating tube. Nine candles and a birthday wish later, we all launched into cake and ice cream, followed by presents.
Emily, who has inherited the Twombly talker gene (that's my side of the family), talked non-stop through the meal, expressing her opinion on a variety of issues, no matter what they were. Hmmmm, I wonder where she inherited that trait??? She thanked each of us as she opened our presents, saying several times how much she loved something. Today she willingly wrote a thank you note to Great Grammie, since she couldn't share in the celebration yesterday.
Todd has really stepped up to the plate this summer and has had a great time finally being the dad that he's been capable of all along, but for a variety of reasons hasn't really been able to demonstrate. He has had the kids this week for the 3rd week of "Daddy Camp," and they have gone swimming, hiking, on a duck tour, played with Leggos, light sabers, the slip and slide and one day, the kids had 3 friends over for a play date. He is firm but reasonable with them, and genuinely has enjoyed spending so much time with them.
All in all, I am so grateful for my children and my grandchildren and for the family glue that finally has returned to hold us all together!!
This summer marks a turning point in family relationships, and I just want to go on record that we have now had two family birthday celebrations which have not caused me to be in high anxiety or wishing I could be somewhere else (like in witness protection).
Last night Todd hosted a small family birthday party for Emily who turns 9 on Saturday. Sarah was able to come, but sadly Ben had to work late. There were just the five of us, and Todd grilled portobello mushrooms with mozzarella and tomato slices (Emily's request) and he made potato salad and I provided green beans out of my garden. The piece de resistance was the birthday cake made by Todd. It was delicious, and he had taken pains to frost it, put colored sprinkles all over it, along with pastel colored m & m's and most impressively, pink "roses" made out of frosting which he had created with a cake decorating tube. Nine candles and a birthday wish later, we all launched into cake and ice cream, followed by presents.
Emily, who has inherited the Twombly talker gene (that's my side of the family), talked non-stop through the meal, expressing her opinion on a variety of issues, no matter what they were. Hmmmm, I wonder where she inherited that trait??? She thanked each of us as she opened our presents, saying several times how much she loved something. Today she willingly wrote a thank you note to Great Grammie, since she couldn't share in the celebration yesterday.
Todd has really stepped up to the plate this summer and has had a great time finally being the dad that he's been capable of all along, but for a variety of reasons hasn't really been able to demonstrate. He has had the kids this week for the 3rd week of "Daddy Camp," and they have gone swimming, hiking, on a duck tour, played with Leggos, light sabers, the slip and slide and one day, the kids had 3 friends over for a play date. He is firm but reasonable with them, and genuinely has enjoyed spending so much time with them.
All in all, I am so grateful for my children and my grandchildren and for the family glue that finally has returned to hold us all together!!
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Blasting off once again
This morning was the much-dreaded appointment with Health and Human Services to make known to the government that my mother is on the verge of having no money and needs to become a member of the Medicaid System. The appointment was dreaded only because I knew from past experience with my father that I would be in a locked room with a social worker person who would speak slowly to me so that I would be sure to understand the complexities of the welfare bureaucracy for approximately three hours.
In anticipation of the appointment, I had gathered 15 months of bank statements, her birth certificate, dad's death certificate, proofs of medicare, Blue Cross, soc. sec. income, pension income, cost of Blue Cross, cost of Langdon Place, my photo i.d., durable power of attorney and her photo i.d. Fortunately, I called for the appointment one day before I put my recycling at the curb, and thus, when the social worker person said I would actually need bank statements going back to April, 2007, when I had enrolled dad, I was able to fish through all the paper (being glad we don't do single stream recycling) and pull out the requisite statements from April, 2007 to the present. They just needed to make sure I hadn't gifted anything to anyone from mom's bank account, or set up a a trust fund for myself, etc.
So . . . at nine o'clock I joined all the other folks in the waiting room at HHS where there is a lovely mural of a tranquil ocean scene complete with sailboats floating. There was a pregnant girl in sweatpants with her shirt not quite covering her belly and another young woman with bleached hair (sprayed red in front) and a tattoo on her chest which said "Brooklyn." I felt right at home. From behind bullet-proof glass, the social worker person called my name and told me to meet her in Room #1. The door locked behind me, and she entered from a door at the back of the room and we had a large countertop-type desk stretching from wall to wall in between us. (Just in case I wanted to leap across and. . . do what???) I wanted to assure her she was safe with me, but I figured if I had to be there for more than 3 hours, I wasn't sure she was safe with me!!
The appointment proceeded in textbook fashion, with me fishing out documents and passing them to her pile for photocopying. When she came to the stack of bank statements (which I'd like to add here I had put in precise order and clipped together by year - dad would have been super proud of me), she looked at every page, following the trail of the cashed out CDs. On the Sept., 2008 bank statement she stopped and said "What's this?" pointing to a check I had written to "Citizens Bank or Katherine Morgan." For the life of me, I couldn't imagine (at first) what that was all about, and I have to admit, it was peculiar. "Oh," I said, the light dawning, "I had to use this account to buy Euros for my trip to Italy." (Oh shit, I thought, that's never going to fly past this woman). "I paid it back," I said hastily. "No, actually, my mom owed me money for meds and supplies, so I subtracted what she owed me from what I had borrowed from her . . . . " I trailed off. Was this going to screw up the whole deal? A mere $208.00 transacation? "Oh, that's fine, she said, after a suitable pause where I'm sure she was recalling every other check I had written to myself throughout the entire two years of bank statements.
She gathered everything I had brought with me to take to photocopy, and before she left, she explained all of my/our rights and all of my responsibilities going forward, the penalty for perjuring myself on any of these forms and the possibility of jail time for a felony offense if I fail to notify them if my mom inherits any money, or when/if her income increases/decreases and any number of other likely scenarios. I wanted to say to her "Yeah, just put me in the slammer now, and let someone else drive my mom to her doctor's appointments, purchase her boxes of Depends and repeat over and over to her that she does NOT have a doctor's appointment tomorrow." I didn't say it, though.
When she returned after about 20 minutes of photocopying, she explained again how all the finances would work, including the fact that between now and September 1st, I have to spend down about $650.00 of mom's bank account. I can't imagine the look that crossed my face, but she said "I can see I just lost you there." Yes, I had to admit that since her bank account was now well below the $2500.00 she is allowed to keep, and since, after all, I had been under suspicion only moments before for the $208.00 I had spent on Euros, I was a bit perplexed that suddenly I was to go out on a spending spree with mom's money. In an explanation too lengthy to include here, I do in fact, understand why I need to spend money, but with the caveat that I can't put anything on my credit or debit cards and pay myself back, "because that would look bad."
So, after only 2 1/2 hours, I left HHS, and by now there was a good line of people waiting to be seen. All that is now left for me to do is A) spend a lot of money B) decide whether I want to keep control over mom's income and pay the bills going forward (Langdon Place gets all of her income minus the cost of BC/BS and the $56.00 per month she is allowed as "spending money)or have the money directly deposited to Langdon Place and C) Try to get Langdon Place to get mom into the Medicare Part D program so that all of her meds and over-the-counter (?) drugs will be paid for going forward.
So, after 5 years of shepherding the money and spending as little as possible, I now need to make sure that we never go over $2500 in her bank account, counting the $56.00 she is allowed to have in an account at Langdon Place. Since Depends alone cost $49.00 per month, I doubt we need to worry too much about this. Imagine my great delight to get home to find my own social security statement in the mail, telling me how much I'll get to have per month and realizing just how much potential there is for living out my last years in poverty as well. Just put me in jail now. . .
In anticipation of the appointment, I had gathered 15 months of bank statements, her birth certificate, dad's death certificate, proofs of medicare, Blue Cross, soc. sec. income, pension income, cost of Blue Cross, cost of Langdon Place, my photo i.d., durable power of attorney and her photo i.d. Fortunately, I called for the appointment one day before I put my recycling at the curb, and thus, when the social worker person said I would actually need bank statements going back to April, 2007, when I had enrolled dad, I was able to fish through all the paper (being glad we don't do single stream recycling) and pull out the requisite statements from April, 2007 to the present. They just needed to make sure I hadn't gifted anything to anyone from mom's bank account, or set up a a trust fund for myself, etc.
So . . . at nine o'clock I joined all the other folks in the waiting room at HHS where there is a lovely mural of a tranquil ocean scene complete with sailboats floating. There was a pregnant girl in sweatpants with her shirt not quite covering her belly and another young woman with bleached hair (sprayed red in front) and a tattoo on her chest which said "Brooklyn." I felt right at home. From behind bullet-proof glass, the social worker person called my name and told me to meet her in Room #1. The door locked behind me, and she entered from a door at the back of the room and we had a large countertop-type desk stretching from wall to wall in between us. (Just in case I wanted to leap across and. . . do what???) I wanted to assure her she was safe with me, but I figured if I had to be there for more than 3 hours, I wasn't sure she was safe with me!!
The appointment proceeded in textbook fashion, with me fishing out documents and passing them to her pile for photocopying. When she came to the stack of bank statements (which I'd like to add here I had put in precise order and clipped together by year - dad would have been super proud of me), she looked at every page, following the trail of the cashed out CDs. On the Sept., 2008 bank statement she stopped and said "What's this?" pointing to a check I had written to "Citizens Bank or Katherine Morgan." For the life of me, I couldn't imagine (at first) what that was all about, and I have to admit, it was peculiar. "Oh," I said, the light dawning, "I had to use this account to buy Euros for my trip to Italy." (Oh shit, I thought, that's never going to fly past this woman). "I paid it back," I said hastily. "No, actually, my mom owed me money for meds and supplies, so I subtracted what she owed me from what I had borrowed from her . . . . " I trailed off. Was this going to screw up the whole deal? A mere $208.00 transacation? "Oh, that's fine, she said, after a suitable pause where I'm sure she was recalling every other check I had written to myself throughout the entire two years of bank statements.
She gathered everything I had brought with me to take to photocopy, and before she left, she explained all of my/our rights and all of my responsibilities going forward, the penalty for perjuring myself on any of these forms and the possibility of jail time for a felony offense if I fail to notify them if my mom inherits any money, or when/if her income increases/decreases and any number of other likely scenarios. I wanted to say to her "Yeah, just put me in the slammer now, and let someone else drive my mom to her doctor's appointments, purchase her boxes of Depends and repeat over and over to her that she does NOT have a doctor's appointment tomorrow." I didn't say it, though.
When she returned after about 20 minutes of photocopying, she explained again how all the finances would work, including the fact that between now and September 1st, I have to spend down about $650.00 of mom's bank account. I can't imagine the look that crossed my face, but she said "I can see I just lost you there." Yes, I had to admit that since her bank account was now well below the $2500.00 she is allowed to keep, and since, after all, I had been under suspicion only moments before for the $208.00 I had spent on Euros, I was a bit perplexed that suddenly I was to go out on a spending spree with mom's money. In an explanation too lengthy to include here, I do in fact, understand why I need to spend money, but with the caveat that I can't put anything on my credit or debit cards and pay myself back, "because that would look bad."
So, after only 2 1/2 hours, I left HHS, and by now there was a good line of people waiting to be seen. All that is now left for me to do is A) spend a lot of money B) decide whether I want to keep control over mom's income and pay the bills going forward (Langdon Place gets all of her income minus the cost of BC/BS and the $56.00 per month she is allowed as "spending money)or have the money directly deposited to Langdon Place and C) Try to get Langdon Place to get mom into the Medicare Part D program so that all of her meds and over-the-counter (?) drugs will be paid for going forward.
So, after 5 years of shepherding the money and spending as little as possible, I now need to make sure that we never go over $2500 in her bank account, counting the $56.00 she is allowed to have in an account at Langdon Place. Since Depends alone cost $49.00 per month, I doubt we need to worry too much about this. Imagine my great delight to get home to find my own social security statement in the mail, telling me how much I'll get to have per month and realizing just how much potential there is for living out my last years in poverty as well. Just put me in jail now. . .
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