If Employers Said What They Meant

• We can't find anyone willing to work--for what we're willing to pay.
• We reward faithful employees--with extra responsibility, but not extra money.
• We reward whiners with light duty--so we don't have to deal with them.
• Smokers get twice as many breaks as non-smokers--because they get obnoxious otherwise.
• Non-smokers don't need breaks--because they won't complain. 
• Dependable employees who call in sick--will be treated with suspicion.
• Slackers who call in sick will not be questioned--the same amount of work gets done, and it's a relief when they're not around.
• Workman's compensation is available--but drama queens get more.
• Please stay home when you're sick--unless we really need you.
• Blame will be recognized--achievement will not.
• Annual reviews--are not annual and do not involve raises.
• Problems with coworkers should be reported--we'll ignore them, unless there is a shooting.
• Leadership positions are available--to those not stupid enough to already work here.
• A college degree is rewarded with higher pay--experience in the actual field counts for nothing.
• Job training depends on the kindness of your coworkers--we will only tell you if you're doing it wrong.
• Employees nearing retirement--may be fired capriciously, or abused into quitting.
• We expect less from millennials--it's like a disability.
• Mandatory company meetings--are usually a huge waste of time.
• Resumes should include--meaningless jargon.
• Incompetent employees--are easier to promote than get rid of.
  

The Life He Has Now

    This poem is along the same thoughts as the previous one for Roddy. Unfortunately, I do not know my cousin Rusty very well because we lived so far apart, his family in Sacramento, mine in Missoula. I barely knew him before his accident, but he now lives in the Boise area, and we used to travel there frequently for Reed's work. Uncle Ed and Rusty would meet us for dinner when we were in the area and, though his slow speech is hard to understand, I have come to know some things about Rusty. For one thing, He knows the Lord and that gives us more common ground than being cousins ever could. For another, he is perpetually smiling and seems content with his life. 

    The reason for this poem is to address "quality of life" because it is used as societal justification for both abortion and euthanasia. The problem is neither individuals nor our culture has any right to determine quality of life on another's behalf. Quality does not come from having perfect genes, or health, or family life, or any other external factor. It comes from the attitude of the individual, and that cannot be determined by a genetic test, physician, or mental health counselor. As I've said before, handicapped or not, people are generally as happy or unhappy as they choose to be.

 The Life He Has Now

My cousin Rusty went from being

a tall, handsome high school quarterback

to a rodeo riding, horse trainer,

married, with a young son.

A horse accident turned him into

a brain injured paraplegic--

no longer married.

Much has been taken from him,

but not his love for God, or horses

or enjoyment of life.

He requires assistance,

but lives in his own apartment.

A motorized wheelchair

lets him navigate his small town.

A computer gives him access to

the horses he cannot ride,

and relatives he cannot visit.

In these days of assisted suicide,

he might have let the injury-induced depression

determine the end his life.

I’m sure he misses the life he had,

the things he cannot do.

But he would also miss

the life he has now.

Our times are in God’s hands.

But the quality of each man’s life

is in his own.

4/7/2018

But Roddy Didn't Know That

    Here is another poem about one of my favorite subjects, and people.

            But Roddy Didn’t Know That

By the time newborn Roddy’s

blood incompatibility problem was diagnosed,

much damage had already been done

to his brain, and muscles, and hearing.

The baby was not expected to survive,

enjoy any quality of life or, at best,

live more than a few years.

But Roddy didn’t know that,

so he lived.

The doctors didn’t think he would walk or talk.

He would live as a vegetable,

best put him in an institution right away,

before the family got too attached.

But Roddy didn’t know that,

So he learned to walk and talk,

not as quickly as other toddlers,

and not without therapy,

but he learned.

He wore leg braces, for a time,

a back brace for scoliosis, required a hearing aid

attended disabled classes, learned to ride a bike.

The boy who was not expected to live or progress

graduated from high school, learned to drive, got a job, bought a car,

and came to know Jesus as his Savior.

And because Roddy knows that,

he also understands that all his limitations

won’t last long.

He loves watching sports, a variety of music

from Buck Owens to Jimi Hendrix.

He goes to Griz games and concerts,

visits his sisters in Kalispell

and, increasingly, does the driving for our aging Dad.

He works hard and saves his money

and, as much as is possible, takes care of himself.

Because Roddy didn’t know

some men don’t.

He loves his family, enjoys travel,

and understands technology better than I

He regrets being single,

but not his years living with Dad.

Though his life has not had the “quality” of others’,

by our culture’s definition,             .

he lived, and continues to live, a full life.

Because Roddy didn’t know

that he couldn’t.

Red Panties

    Yesterday, as usual, we stopped at the outlet mall in North Bend on our way to Seattle. We do this, in part, to buy clothes, but mostly we are there to buy time until the 5 p.m. Seattle traffic slows down. Wrong expression. Our goal is for the traffic to finally speed up. If we leave Kalispell around 8 and stop for lunch and gas, we wind up hitting Seattle at rush hour. To us small town folks, Seattle traffic is bad enough without adding 5 p.m. to the mayhem. Our favorite store at the outlets is Vanity Fair. Despite the name, it is more a source of Levis than lingerie. All of the jeans I have purchased in the past five years have come from Vanity Fair. Reed particularly likes their heavy Wrangler work shirts. While he selected three of those, I bought jeans, a shirt, and a purse for myself. Vanity Fair always has a rack of good quality panties for $2.47 and I usually buy a pair. Underwear shopping is never my idea of fun, but the $2.47 rack makes it manageable. Even though nobody sees them, which at my age and weight is a very good thing, I try to pick a color that I look good in, or at least feel good about. If I cannot flatter my figure, I can at least have fun with it. So, for the second time in my life, I bought red panties.
     A nice young man rang up my purchases. Guess which item didn't scan? Had to be "man"handled over and over? Eventually had to be hand keyed into the register one scarlet number at a time? The red panties. I was hoping he thought I bought them for someone else, since the image of an overweight, 61 year old grandmother in red panties is a burden even a strong young man should not have to carry. I should have known those rebellious red panties would not be content to rest quietly in my underwear drawer, they would find a way to draw attention to themselves. I have to admit though, they matched nicely with my red face.