Writing 101: Cereal Postmortem

Calumetcemetaryerasetexture2Woke up refreshed for the first time in a while after sleeping approximately 8 hours.  That’s a huge deal for me.

I can just recall the part of my dream before waking of looking out of a large window onto a funeral procession of old.

I felt relaxed and calm, not sad or upset so I don’t know what it really represented to me.

With new eyes and a different outlook, I was able to find some important information to resolve one of the problems I have been working on.  Finding this out has made a difference on what I will be doing in the near future and has given me hope.  I still have a lot of things up in the air, but I finally have my hope back which is everything to me.

 

Writing 101: Baby It’s Storming!

“Homes are a great investment.”

“And even if they don’t keep going up in value, I will at least be able to sell my home for what I paid for it with all the sweat equity and improvements.”

Those were the kinds of comments and thought behind the purchase of a home I made at the end of 2004, at what was to be the height of the mortgage movement, right before the meltdown.

After losing my job years ago, I have managed to hang on to this interest only ARM between other part-time jobs and unemployment.

I am now facing repayment of the principle in a home that been washed out in the eye of that mortgage storm.  It is now worth approximately half of what I now owe on both mortgages.  The mortgage “expert” did no money down because she could just mortgage this into my home payments, easy peasy my arse!

The new payments to come will be over $500. more a month and I can’t afford the current payments.  I have run out of all savings and almost all options at this time so I guess when it rains it really does “poor.”

What makes me angry is the fact that all this has happened through no fault of my own.  Since I purchased my home as a much older woman I as well as the banks knew that I would never be able to pay that home off in my lifetime since they had access to all my financial information.  I had planned on selling it a few years down the line for at least what I paid of it, no problem.  This was not to be since within a couple of years there was trouble in the mortgage industry and the value of my home was down about $10,000 or so.  I decided to try and keep it longer in hopes the value would soon rebound.  My bad!

I played by the rules, this was not what I wanted to happen but it has.  I think of a number of people I knew that deliberately walked away from their homes beside the fact that they still could afford the payments at the time.  Now they have everything so slanted to help the mortgage companies only and the hell with private citizens trying to survive.  This is killing me because I have an immaculate credit history and I am very anal retentive.  What makes me angry is they will harass and molest me and try to make me look like the bad guy, even though I have no choice or control in what has happened in my circumstances and they are the very ones that caused all these problems.

I have begun to get documentation together to sue my original mortgage company to at least take this predatory mortgage off my hands if I can do this pro-bono!  Wish me luck!

Writing 101: Four Bedrooms and Two Full Baths

We lived with my maternal grandmother when I was 12.  My entire family was intact, aside from the fact that my baby brother was not to be born until I was sweet 16, so there was grams, mom and dad, me, my sister and three brothers.

We lived in a four bedroom brick ranch with full basement and two full bathrooms.  We managed OK with the 8 of us and our dog Ranger.  We moved into this brand new subdivision just being built in the late 1950’s with no sod or trees on any of the streets yet.  We had a huge backyard that turned to mud every time it rained.  Apparently they purchased the home before it was built and would always show me the blueprint of the lots to prove that we had the largest lot in our subdivision and that’s why they selected it.

I previously printed a picture of us kids with my cousin in my favorite room in that house, the kitchen.

 

Happy Father’s Day, Is It?

Today some of you have the privilege of showing your dad just how much he is loved and appreciated.

Others have the reminder of just how much they miss him, especially at this time of year.

Then there are the ones like me.  The ones who either never had a father or were abandoned by him when they needed him the most.

I never spoke about my father to others.  Many years ago my co-workers were talking about what they were planning for their fathers on father’s day, some remarking how they had previously lost their father.  I was the only one not saying anything.  I think because of this one of them asked me if my father was still alive and the conversation went a little like this:

“Is your dad still alive?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?”

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Dad and me in happier times.

  “My dad took off when I was a teen and we never heard from or about him ever again.”

  “Oh.  That must feel really weird not to even know where you dad is or if he’s even alive.”

  “Yeah.”

I think that was the only time anyone ever asked me about my dad or that I spoke about him to others.

If my dad were living, he would be 80 years old.  He ran off with another woman purportedly 8 years his senior when I was a senior in high school.  My mother was 3 years his senior, so there appears to be a pattern.  He had six children between the ages of seventeen and one at the time.  My father was 35 years old when he left and my mother was swearing this other, older woman was pregnant with his child.  We were told about our half-brother by this other woman after my dad left her as well years later.

I didn’t tell my co-workers the entire truth because it was not anyone’s business and I was already getting the pity eyes just because he took off in the first place.  I had heard he was still alive approximately 12 years after he left.  I was married with two children of my own at the time.  Apparently someone was investigating my father for some unsavory business in the southern states.  That’s when some chickens really came home to roost as they say and which actually brought about the end of my marriage for various reasons that I may muse about in some other future posts.

To those of you who have a great dad who was always there for you, please let him know how much you love and appreciate him for this, and not just today.  There are many who don’t appreciate their fathers for petty, small-minded reasons.  I feel sorry for those people and would gladly trade places with them.  No one is perfect and this is the time to celebrate having a real dad with faults and everything.

 

Writing 101: Day Eight in the Hospital

Not as serious as it sounds, routine blood work for physical.

Walking the same path, I am reminded of the last time I saw my friend, but she didn’t see me and I hesitated talking to her, afraid it would rouse her from her coma of death.  A coma she no longer wanted to wake from because she decided it was her time to go home.

I watch the hospital employees striding by and the patients walk slower.  Most have no where else they have to be.

I smell that coffee smell in the hall because they chose to put a shop in one of the hallways.  I was fasting so really wanting a cup, even if it’s de-café now.

The lab technician is reading something when I come into the office.  She asks me for something and I don’t hear all of it for some reason.  She repeats it again and seems annoyed.  I’m praying she’s not the one that will be drawing my blood.

She’s is the one and when she begins her task, her demeanor changes completely and even though my arm has a poke in it, I’ve had worse phlebotomists.